


Wielder of the Eternal Flame

by overlordy



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AKA, AU, AU where Ford is the twins' grandpa, Aged-Up Character(s), Bill also has a human form, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Magical!Mabel, Older!Dipper, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Present Tense, Slow Burn, Strong Language, This is gonna get pretty dark later, Triangle Bill will come in later i promise, Violence, bara!Dipper, buff!Dipper, sword!Bill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordy/pseuds/overlordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper expects a normal, boring summer spent working at his grand-uncle's tourist trap. But when he discovers a mysterious sword in the woods the hidden legacy of the Pines family comes to light. As trouble looms over Gravity Falls, Dipper must struggle between what is right and what is wrong, lest he be swallowed by darkness.</p><p>(AKA, the AU where Bill is a sword, and Dipper his wielder)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got to writing this after weeks of development. I do not have a good history with multi-chapter fics but I'm optimistic about this one

Blood trickles down Dipper's hand. He feels it as if through a pair of rubber gloves, the muted warmth and stick are almost undetectable. Horror hits his gut like a freight train. He can't breathe, the pain in his head throbs with each beat of his fluttering heart. His body aches.

_I'm sorry._

In hindsight, a normal summer seems like a blessing.

**THREE MONTHS EARLIER...**

When Dipper agreed to get out of the house and experience the world, he did not expect _this._

Dipper sits in the back of a rickety old bus, forehead against the window. He's the only passenger, aside from an older man who keeps muttering about Bigfoot. They travel through a long, winding road, then across a bridge that gives him a magnificent view of the place he'll be staying for the next three months.

He's being shipped off to the middle of _fucking nowhere._

In June, Dipper graduated college at twenty-two with a degree in English. He set his sights on writing a world-renowned novel and becoming the next Tolkien, but almost immediately after graduation he hit a wall. The dreaded writer's block.

His block could not be overcome by any means. Yoga, tea, more books than he could count, nothing could give him the spark he needed. So his parents suggested (more like forced) him to spend the summer somewhere _unfamiliar_ and _mystical._

That place happens to be Gravity Falls.

Apparently he has a great uncle or something that could use his help during the summer. At first, Dipper protested, but when Mabel insisted, he caved. Never before had he felt such betrayal.

Thus, Dipper Pines finds himself in an old bus with a suspicious man, hurtling at concerning speeds down a forest road. He prepares himself for the most boring summer of his life.

The bus turns onto a small gravel road then screeches to a stop. The doors open with a hiss and Dipper stands when the driver calls out "Gravity Falls!"

He hefts his luggage under both arms then eases off the bus, legs shaking from sitting for almost ten straight hours. A gust of cold mountain wind hits him and he shivers, unused to the chilly Pacific Northwest climate, which even his thickest flannel and warmest beanie cannot protect him against. Waiting for him is an old man donned in a suit and a bright red fez.

"Ah, you must be Dipper! Good to see ya, kid!"

"Er- Grunkle Stan?"

"In the flesh," Stan flashes Dipper a grin. Dipper barely even knows the man. According to his parents, they met when Dipper was too young to remember. Stan became that relative who never showed up to reunions, yet still somehow managed to send him and Mabel a snow globe every Christmas.

Stan claps Dipper on the shoulder. "So, kid, while you're doing some soul searching or whatever, you're also going to be working with me. My last handyman moved to Portland with his fiancée, so you're my replacement. We're gonna get your dainty writer hands dirty."

Oh, yeah. He actually has to do something while he's here. "My hands are not _dainty_. What exactly am I gonna be working on, anyway?"

Grunkle Stan smirks and turns him around. Dipper's jaw drops.

"Welcome... to the Mystery Shack!"

Dipper forces a smile. The shingles on the roof look torn and ragged and... Is that moss growing them? He swears he sees a raccoon dart under the house. Large, garish signs loudly proclaim world fame and mystery. It gives the vibe that makes Dipper never want to set foot inside for fear of mold, or rabies.

A tourist trap. He's going to be working in a fucking tourist trap for three months.

Surrounding the Shack on all sides is a dense forest. It goes on for miles, if Dipper recalls correctly. His inner 12-year-old anticipates adventure, hopes for any paranormal things hidden in those trees, begging to be discovered. Current Dipper, however, lives in reality. He squashes those hopes before they grow more and disappoint him in the future.

A heavy hand on his head startles him out of his thoughts. Stan moves back and eyes him up and down. "You're not nearly as scrawny as I thought you'd be, kid. Do you lift?"

Dipper reaches up and removes the hat Stan forced on his head. It's plain, blue and white, with a single pine tree in the middle. He traces his thumb around the design. "I started going to the gym to try to jump-start my brain into having ideas. Didn't work that well." At least he has some shapely arms now.

"Well, welcome to the team, kid." Grunkle Stan smiles and, for a moment, something nostalgic flickers on his face. It's gone as soon as Dipper sees it. "What're you standing around for? Hop to it! We ain't got all day!" Stan calls. Dipper sighs and picks up his luggage, hurrying into the Mystery Shack, ready for the most uneventful summer of his life.

* * *

Stan directs Dipper to the spare bedroom upstairs. Two beds lay waiting, perhaps Stan planned for both twins to come visit at one point. Dipper can't help but grin at the sort of mischief he and Mabel would have caused.

Dipper sets his stuff down on the bed and the sudden movement scares a rat out from underneath. It darts across the floor and under the door of the closet. Dipper stares after it in horror.

Dipper looks forward to sleeping in a rat infested, rotting shack. How Stan managed to tolerate living somewhere in such disrepair is beyond him. He cautiously presses against the bed, but no more rodents come scurrying out. He shudders in disgust and a small part of him longs for the comforting support of his twin. Her optimism can turn any bleak situation into something fun.

He chases away that feeling. Mabel is off being a successful adult on the other side of the country, starting her own clothes line and making money and not being a disappointment to their family. He needs to stop relying on her, be an adult for once-

A knock at his door startles him out of his thoughts. He shakes his head, burying those dark feelings before they resurface again. "Come in," he calls.

"All settled, kid?" Grunkle Stan peers around his room. Dipper's clothes aren't even unpacked. "Great! Now go outside."

"I- What?"

"You heard me! Go for a walk, see the sights, go to a bar, I don't care. Just get out of the house."

Dipper narrows his eyes. Sending him out already? He just got here. "You don't have anything for me to do? At all?"

"Nope, not at the moment!"

"...Did mom put you up to this?"

Stan shrugs, then none too gently begins to push Dipper toward the stairs. "I've been sworn to secrecy! It's for your own good!"

Dipper nearly breaks his neck from falling down the stairs, but catches himself on the railing in time. He turns to give his grand-uncle a displeased look, then straightens and brushes himself off with as much dignity as he can muster. "Fine, just stop shoving me!"

Stan waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, just grow a pair, wouldja? Don't come back until you're inspired, or until you have a twelve pack in your hands! Whichever comes first!"

Dipper slams the front door behind him. The screen door rattles like it might fall off at any moment, but Dipper ignores it. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks into the forest without a single thought to where he was going.

The forest is, admittedly, gorgeous. Pine needles and birch leaves litter the ground and muffle his footsteps. Birds chirp and flutter about above his head, he even spots a deer darting between the trees. He considers going on daily walks, if not to provoke some sort of epiphany, then to at least get some form of exercise.

He searches for any the small, meaningful thing, anything to inspire him. He finds a dead rabbit then almost cracks his skull on a thick tree branch. He manages to have a five minute long staring contest with a curious squirrel before it surrenders and retreats up the trunk of a tree.

Still no spark.

Dipper soul-searches for far longer than he expected. Shadows in the forest elongate and when he next looks up it's almost dark.

And he has no clue where he is.

"Serves me right for not bringing a map," he grumbles to himself, removing his hat to run an agitated hand through his hair. He replaces it, turns, and tries walking back the way he came, but his surroundings are unfamiliar. As the sky grows darker his panic rises, which only results in him becoming even more lost. Instinct tells him to turn left and, taking a chance, he listens. He comes to a stop in a clearing, more lost than he has ever been in his life, both literally and figuratively.

He's going to die in the middle of nowhere. Probably eaten by bears, or wolves, or Bigfoot, whichever comes first. All because he couldn't come up with a single god damned idea for a stupid novel.

Maybe he should give up the whole writing thing and look into teaching or something.

Anger bubbles up inside him. Dipper swears and kicks the closest tree. He instantly regrets it when his foot starts throbbing in protest, but the metallic, hollow clang the tree makes catches his attention.

Trees do not sound like steel barrels when kicked, last time he checked. Suspicious, Dipper runs his hands along the trunk of the tree. Moss, bark, completely normal, except for one section with moss growing in a completely straight line. He knocks that spot and the sound echoes. Dipper, curiosity now completely out of control, presses his weight against the hollow spot on the tree.

There's a hiss and a rusty screech as a panel in the tree slides open. Dust floats into the air and a spider or two crawls out of the secret compartment. It's as tall as he is, and he just happened to stumble upon it.

He hopes there's treasure.

When the dust settles, Dipper finds his hopes dashed. A solitary sword rests in the compartment. It sits in a pitch black leather sheath and its hilt is ornately decorated with what looks like real gold. There's not a single spot of rust to be seen, it shines as if it was recently polished.

Dipper pulls the sword out of the compartment with no small amount of effort. It's absurdly tall. It comes up to his nose, and he's 5'10". He needs two hands to lift it out of the compartment and it narrowly misses his foot then hits the ground with a thud. It can't weigh more than ten pounds, but moving it is awkward. How anyone ever used this thing was beyond him, it looks like something out of a video game. He examines it closer, running his fingers across the smooth hilt. Etched in the pommel is what looks like the Eye of Providence, surrounded by a wheel containing several strange symbols.

Dipper looks around for anyone who might have come running when he discovered their undoubtedly expensive sword, but he's completely alone. Even the birds have stopped chirping. A dangerous, unsettling stillness settles over the forest. A chill shoots up his spine.

Good thing he has this sword for self defense. Too bad he can barely lift it above his head.

A twig snaps and he whips around, eyes wide with fear. He might need to learn to use it, preferably soon.

"H-hello?" He calls, taking slow steps toward the noise. He drags the sword with him, he can't even lift it it's so god damn heavy. "Hello? Anyone there?" He peers into the darkness, and a pair of golden eyes glint back at him. A deer, maybe? He prays to whatever god that's listening that it's a deer. Another set of eyes blink at him, then a third. "Um... Nice deer?"

His answer is a loud, inhuman screech. Dipper slams his hands over his ears to block out the noise, dropping the sword in the process.

Out of the undergrowth leaps something straight from a mythology textbook. It's a lion, but it's not. A pitch black goat head raises adjacent to the head of the lion, and where its tail should be rests a huge snake. Its paws are easily the size of Dipper's head and when it opens its mouth, emerald flames pour out onto the ground.

A chimera. He must have been slipped some drug, or he's having one vivid and particularly nasty nightmare. Either way he turns on his heel and books it.

The chimera roars behind him and Dipper can feel the ground vibrate as it chases him. It probably wants a snack, and Dipper feels like the unfortunate mouse running from the horrible mutant lion-goat-snake, who also happens to breathe fire. Oh god, he's so screwed.

He almost reaches the edge of the trees when it pounces. Dipper drops to the ground, feeling a gust of air where its paws narrowly miss his head. He scrambles to his feet and flees in the opposite direction just as the chimera rights itself and gives chase once more. He's definitely going to die now. In his panic the only thing he thinks to do is run as fast as he can and scoop up his only hope of defense- the sword. He holds it in what he hopes is a threatening way. The chimera suddenly slows in its pursuit and growls, tail lashing and fire pouring from its mouth. Its paws knead the ground and all six of its eyes never leave the sword in Dipper's hands.

It's... afraid. Dipper never thought of himself as intimidating, so that's certainly a first.

Dipper rips off the sheath of the sword. The blade glints in the light of the sunset and he holds it in sweaty hands. The glint grows brighter and brighter, and he realizes the glow is not the sun, but the sword itself glowing with an unearthly yellow light.

The chimera makes quiet huffing noises and paces, ears flat. The goat head bleats and wiggles as if trying to run away. Dipper's hands burn but he can't drop the sword, his skin is almost glued to it. It grows hotter and hotter, glowing as bright as the sun. Dipper closes his eyes.

He hears a sharp, high-pitched whistle, then nothing. The burning disappears, along with the sensation of cold metal. Instead, he feels something soft. Fabric? He opens his eyes.

A man stands where the sword used to be. "Hey there, buckaroo! Got into a little trouble?"

Dipper's mouth drops open. The man grins widely at him. He has short blonde hair and dark skin, and wears a yellow vest over a white dress shirt and dark slacks. He looks like he's on his way to some fancy dinner party. One of his eyes is gold, the other is a bright turquoise. He's the exact height of the sword, coming up to Dipper's nose.

The man- sword? -reaches up and closes Dipper's mouth with his free hand. He's wearing gloves. "You'll catch bugs like that, young Pines."

Dipper's brain screeches to a halt. He says nothing, only stares in mild surprise and confusion at the man in front of him. "What, sword got your tongue, kid? Haha, get it? Because I'm a sword?"

Now he's cracking jokes? Dipper can see the stress-eating he'll be doing now. Dipper's only response is a strangled wheeze. The man clicks his tongue, "Understandable. Many cannot speak in the face of my glory. Mostly because they burst into flames at a mere glimpse of my visage! But where are my manners? My name is Bill Cipher, sword demon and patron to the Pines family." Bill Cipher bows, tucking one arm to his abdomen. The other he wrenches out of Dipper's white-knuckled grip and sweeps behind him.

The chimera hisses at the sudden movement. Bill straightens, then turns on his heel. Dipper forgot about the giant lion-goat-snake and suddenly remembers the terrible danger his life is currently in. Bill bounces on his heels like an energetic child. "Ooh, and you got me a present! I love some breakfast in bed, and when the wielder gets straight to work. You Pines keep your noses to the grindstone, now that's progress!" Bill turns back toward Dipper and the grin on the demon's face unsettles him. "Let's not waste time, I sure am famished." Bill grasps Dipper's hand before he can protest. The glow is softer this time, enough that Dipper can watch as Bill's form shifts from human to sword, but soon said weapon is back in his hands.

Dipper snaps back to reality. "Wait, what? You don't really expect me to fight that thing!"

No response. The chimera snarls at him and spits an enormous fireball. Dipper leaps to the side, rolling and scrambling to his feet. The fireball hits a tree and it crumbles into a pile of ash. Dipper pales, "I don't think I can do this," he says. The sword remains silent. He's getting no help from the demon, apparently.

The chimera rakes its kitchen knife sized claws against the dirt and that's all the warning Dipper has before it charges. It approaches rapidly and Dipper grits his teeth. Deep instincts take over and he acts with little conscious thought. He pushes his left foot back, and lifts the sword with all his strength. It arches high over his head, hits the ground on his other side, then the chimera hits him. The wind is knocked out of his body by about four hundred pounds of lion.

He feels not the cold embrace of death, but a pleasant warmth coming from the sword in his hands. He also feels warmth trickling down the back of his neck. Dipper wiggles out from underneath the chimera and drops the sword, shaking droplets of blood from his hair. Bill quickly transforms and stands beside him, completely spotless despite just being used to behead a Greek monster. "Hah! Kid, you are a natural. Congratulations on living up to your predetermined standards!" The goat and lion head lay several feet away, while the snake head swings wildly back and forth and convulses in pain.

Dipper beheaded a chimera. Now that is something worth putting in his resumé.

He glances at Bill and the demon looks positively _giddy_. He chuckles and hums, wringing his hands together. "Good work, Pine Tree. You have potential," he pats Dipper on the shoulder and walks to the body of the chimera, heading straight for the snake. His eyes glint with hunger. He's... dangerous.

"Pine Tree?" Dipper questions. He's known this guy for about five minutes and he already has a nickname? His thoughts flicker briefly to his hat, then one of the symbols on the wheel etched in Bill's pommel. Bill grabs the snake with one hand. It hisses and thrashes wildly in his grasp, but Bill must be stronger than he looks because he doesn't seem fazed at all.

"On your hat," Bill says, then he grabs the snake with the other hand and twists. There's a gruesome crunch of bones then the snake falls limp. Bill sucks in a breath and grins, and the sight makes Dipper's stomach churn. "You haven't told me your name yet, so I took it upon myself to give you one."

What has he gotten into? "It's... Dipper. Dipper Pines."

Bill stares at him. His eyes move slowly up and down Dipper's body, and suddenly Dipper would much rather try his luck with the chimera again than provoke this guy. "Well, _Dipper Pines_ ," the way Bill says his name makes him shudder. "I look forward to working with you. Now, if you'd kindly escort me back to that sad hovel of a Shack-"

Dipper doesn't hear the rest, deciding he wants a good mile between him and the sadistic sword. He turns and sprints into the trees, Bill's laughter echoing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, Bill's sword form looks similar to a zweihänder.


	2. I'll Seek You Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Flay you alive_   
>  _One more word and you won't survive_

Dipper comes to with a lovely view of the forest floor and what feels like the worst hangover he’s ever experienced.

That must have been some crazy party. He groans and sits up, gently massaging the back of his head where the pain is located. He had this weird dream, too, where chimeras were real and there was this weird dude who could turn into a sword-

“Having fun with your migraine, Pine Tree?”

Damn, so much for wishful thinking. Dipper turns his head as slowly as possible, to avoid upsetting his migraine further, and gives what he hopes is the most intimidating glare he’s ever given. As soon as his eyes fall on Bill’s grinning visage, the migraine alleviates itself like magic. Dipper frowns and stands on shaky legs. “What did you do to my head?” he demands, stomping into Bill’s space and glaring down at him.

Bill lifts his hands palms-out in a placating gesture. “Nothing, for once. Are you that blissfully ignorant to your own predestined role? Is the legacy of your family that meaningless?” he laughs and gives his thigh a hearty slap, as if Dipper just told him a hilarious joke.

Dipper watches Bill laugh for a few long moments. His anger and frustration boil until his emotions finally overflow, with only one person to take it out on. He grabs the front of Bill’s stupid vest with both hands and pulls him forward until they’re nose to nose. He’s surprisingly light. “Legacy? What legacy? What aren't you telling me?” he growls. Bill places his hand on Dipper’s wrist, but doesn’t grab. Dipper can feel the threat lingering in the touch, but tightens his grip despite it. The fabric of Bill’s vest strains in his fist.

“My, my, I thought you knew. Y’know, they used to keep the next generation _informed_ about their destiny, but apparently the Pines have been… Skimping out.” Bill’s eyes glint with barely restrained anger. “I would also recommend releasing me, Pine Tree, before I have to _break something_.”

There’s a heavy silence where Dipper glares into Bill’s bi-colored eyes in a battle of wills. He feels like ripping his stupid vest out of spite, but Bill’s hand tightens around his wrist, and suddenly his threat seems very imminent. Dipper scowls and lets go, admitting defeat. Bill clicks his tongue and smooths out the wrinkles on his vest. “Such disrespect. You Pines have really gone to the dogs this time around,” Bill looks at Dipper and wrinkles his nose. “You’ll do, but I have had far better. Oh, speaking of better, Stanford is going to be so surprised! I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

Bill walks away, chuckling under his breath, and Dipper hurries to follow. He has no desire to be within a mile of Bill, especially when the demon sports such a cheerfully violent expression on his face, but he seems to know where he’s going. Dipper is, after all, still hopelessly lost, and tired of Bill’s vague ramblings about the past. Hopefully Stan will provide some answers.

* * *

They walk for five minutes, with Bill trying to pester Dipper into spewing his whole life story  _‘for business reasons’_ , but Dipper ignores him. His sense of self-preservation advises against talking to Bill more than he has to, at least until he understands what exactly is going on. The trees gradually thin and fall away to reveal the Shack once more, just as the sun disappears behind the treetops.

Bill darts ahead of him, almost skipping up to the Shack’s front porch, with a tired and irate Dipper trailing behind him. Bill’s energy is too much for him, he just wants to lie in his old, dusty bed and sleep for ten hours straight. Bill raps sharply on the door with his knuckles, then pushes the door open without a single care and shoulders his way inside.

 _“Stanford, I’m hoooome!”_ Bill calls in a sing-song voice that somehow manages to irritate Dipper further. He hears something crash and a distant from the direction of the living room, then Stan comes barreling full-speed down the hallway, dressed in nothing but a dirty tank top and a pair of boxers. The old man stops in the doorway and stares at Bill, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. He looks pale, and Dipper worries he may be having a stroke and is halfway to calling 911 when Stan’s face contorts with rage. The old man flies forward with surprising speed and Bill narrowly ducks the oncoming fist.

Why the hell does Stan have brass knuckles? He swings again and Bill dodges it gracefully. Dipper stands to the side, wisely keeping himself away from Stan’s anger, his rapidly flying fists in particular.

“Oh, Stanford! Thirty years apart and this is the welcome I get?” Bill teases and Stan becomes even more livid, swinging punch after punch. Bill dodges each one and manages to laugh at the same time. “I daresay you've grown soft! I expected at least _one_ combat rifle!”

Stan’s stamina seems to be failing him, as each attack comes slower and slower, until finally he stops. He rests his hands on his knees and breathes heavily, glaring at Bill with unfathomable hatred. Dipper is grateful that he isn't on the receiving end. After a pause Stan finally rights himself. “You- you should have stayed in the sword. Release him. _Now._ ”

Bill clicks his tongue. “Tut, tut, Stanford! You know that just isn't possible,” Bill glances at Dipper and suddenly throws his arm around his shoulder. Dipper hunches over to accommodate for Bill’s short stature. “We’re bonded now, gonna be the best of friends. Isn't that right, Pine Tree?”

Dipper opens his mouth to disagree and tell Bill just where, exactly, he can shove his stupid sword, but Stan cuts him off with a yell of rage. He punches a wall and leaves a deep dent, then storms, seething, out of the room. Dipper stares after him in shock.

“Wow, what a fun guy, huh?” Bill wipes away a mock tear and sighs with nostalgia. “They grow up so tormented. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

Dipper scowls and shakes off Bill’s arm. “Yeah, speaking of change, why don’t you transform back into a sword so I don’t have to listen to you talk?”

Bill looks taken aback for about a millisecond before he bursts into laughter. “Oh, Pine Tree, that’s cute. Our link is mental, so I’ll just be screaming in your head the whole time! Great fun, especially when you’re trying to fall asleep. Just give a little scream right before you enter REM, never gets old.”

Bill chortles and Dipper suddenly regrets every life decision he’s ever made.

Luckily, Stan chose that minute to hobble back into the gift shop, rubbing his forehead and grumbling about aspirin. He leans against the register across from them and focuses a hard stare on Dipper, determinedly avoiding Bill’s grin. “I’m sure you have some questions,” Stan says.

Dipper snorts, “Yeah, some. Just… tell me everything.”

Stan heaves a sigh and runs his hands down his face, looking older than he ever has, and Dipper feels sorry for him. “Alright. You _are_ an adult now, but we should relocate.” He straightens and walks down the hall, Dipper at his heels and Bill trailing behind. They enter the living room and Stan takes a seat in his chair and Dipper flops onto the couch, bone tired. Bill sits beside him and squirms, making sure to jab his elbows into Dipper’s side, until he’s comfortable with his arms behind his head and his feet in Dipper’s lap. Dipper shoves them off, but he replaces them instantly.

“Asshole,” Dipper mutters, and Bill kicks his thigh. Dipper nurses the kick, but when he looks up Stan is grinning at him. He hasn't seen his granduncle grin that wide before, but something about it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a sadness there.

“You remind me of my brother,” he says at Dipper’s questioning look. Bill stills beside him, but Dipper doesn't acknowledge him, despite the temptation to look at his face.

“Grandpa?” Dipper asks, head tilted. He unfortunately never met his grandfather, he died from sickness when his mother was just a little girl.

Stan sinks further into the chair. “My twin.”

Like him and Mabel. Dipper begins to see connections that he never noticed before. Stan sighs and begins, “Every other generation, a set of twins are born in the Pines family. Those twins are tasked with the responsibility of… him.”

Bill waves and mouths _that’s me!_ at Dipper when he glances over. Stan continues, still refusing to look at Bill. “He’s a sword demon. Generations ago, your ancestors requested his aide in containing the things in Gravity Falls, to prevent them from escaping and  wreaking havoc on the  rest of the world.”

The chimera. That must also mean that there are more things like that in this strange town, possibly worse things. Dipper shudders just thinking about what might be out in those woods. Bill feels his shudder and chuckles.

 _Scared, Pine Tree?_ Dipper jumps and whips around to stare at Bill, but the demon hasn't uttered a word. He winks and gestures to Stan. _Pay attention to your history, kid._

So, Bill wasn’t lying about the whole mental link thing. Dipper shakes his head, unsure about having Bill constantly in his head, and turns his attention back to Stan, who’s staring at him expectantly.

“Anyway, Bill obviously agreed. He would help the Pines family defend their world, as long as he gained the energy from everything he was used to destroy. His blade can kill anything, and I mean _anything._ The Pines used him to keep the creatures here in check, while he fed off the souls of those killed by his blade. For a while, it was just one person who used him every generation, but he was too unstable for one person to control. The wielders either went mad or died in battle.”

“More like you Pines are too weak to handle me,” Bill cuts in and Dipper elbows him sharply. He feels Bill glare on him, probably promising some form of payback, but nods for Stan to continue.

“So…” Stan has to pause to close his eyes, probably to resist the urge to punch Bill’s face in. “Bill pulled some strings, and now a set of twins is born every other generation. The youngest of the two, the wielder, is tasked with using Bill in battle and… feeding him. The older is called the watcher keeps an eye on the wielder, fending off Bill’s influence and keeping him as in check as possible.”

Dipper clenches his hands into fists, wondering why his family held this information from him until he accidentally found Bill, why Stan chose to hide Bill’s existence from him. Bill has been surprisingly silent, and when he looks up Bill’s eyes are trained intently on him, the blue one flickering like fire. He smiles, “You’re the wielder, kiddo. Good thing you go to the gym, right?”

“...Yeah. Good thing.” He’s in shock, his brain running to catch up with the information given to him. Some predestined role? Demons? It’s all too much. He needs to lie down. “What were you?” he asks Stan.

“I was Bill’s wielder,” Stan says, and Dipper tears himself away from Bill’s gaze in time to witness a shudder pass through his granduncle. “It’s rough, kid. You cannot let him get to you, or you’ll lose yourself.” He stands, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That means we need to get your sister over here. Now.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet and puts himself between Stan and the phone nailed to the wall. “No! No, we can’t drag her into this. She’s living her own life and being successful, I can’t take her away from that!” he argues.

Stan levels him with a no-nonsense glare. “Kid, the fate of the world rests on your shoulders, and your sister shares the blame if shit hits the fan. She needs to be here, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

In desperation, Dipper looks over his shoulder at Bill, who sprawled himself across the couch, for help. The demon clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Sorry, kid, that’s how it always goes. As much as I hate being told what to do, policy is policy.”

Dipper hangs his head in defeat and sighs, “Fine, just let me call her.”

Stan shrugs, “Whatever, kid, it’s your responsibility now. Ask me if you need advice or something.” He sits back in his chair and stares at the television, which isn't even on. He looks so tired. “Go get some sleep, kid. You look like you need it.”

Dipper feels like he’s been run over by at least two buses. His muscles scream with every movement, but he needs to know more. Dipper starts to object, but Stan raises his hand in a silencing motion.

“No buts, remember? You can call Mabel tomorrow, she’ll come no matter what. Go to bed.” And that’s the end of that argument. Bill leaps to his feet and strides to Dipper’s side, leaning against him.

“Well, I guess we’re gonna be rooming together, my wielder!” Dipper steps away and inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth to keep his anxiety in check before it escalates into a full-blown panic attack. Maybe he’ll go for a jog after he calls Mabel, get back into the habit of keeping himself in shape. He needs to be prepared for whatever the hell this town decides to throw at him.

He’s at the top of the stairs when he pauses and Bill almost walks into his back. “What’s the hold up, Pine Tree?” he says, but Dipper ignores him.

“Stan…” No response. Dipper sucks in a breath. “How… How exactly did Grandpa die? Mom told us it was from cancer, but...”

Dipper trails off, but Stan ignores him. Dipper’s ready to turn around and head up to his bed, but he catches sight of Bill. He gives Dipper a dark, knowing look, his lips curling into a grin. “It wasn’t sickness, Pine Tree,” he whispers.

Dipper looks between Stan, who’s still focused intently on the television, and Bill. His blue eye flickers again, as if holding back an intense flame, and Dipper must tread carefully to avoid being burned. A chill races down his spine and he hurries up the stairs, Bill close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Eyes on Fire by Blue Foundation


	3. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Behind these eyes.._   
>  _Beneath this crown of fire.._   
>  _Hides a mind..._   
>  _Etched in violence.._   
>  _Stained and Rotten.._   
>  _Breast fed from devils.._   
>  _And now.._   
>  _I eat my own kind...._   
>  _Tonight.._   
>  _The sermons I write.._   
>  _Will save my life.._   
>  _And yours..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late! moved and everything, very hectic. i should return to a consistent schedule now!

_Waves crash against the cliff Dipper stands on, lashing again and again and crumbling the rock under their onslaught. Dipper stares below into the frothing sea, dark as the night sky. The abyss draws him in, as he leans closer his bare foot slips on the rocks and sends him tumbling down._

_The waves catch him and pull him under. Beneath the crashing surface, the sea is a calm, inky black, with rays of moonlight barely penetrating the water. Dipper floats, eyes open, unaffected by the sting of salt._

_From the darkness looms a pair of huge scarlet eyes. Rows upon rows of sharp teeth flash at him, a huge gaping mouth moving to swallow him whole. A long, snakelike body curls around him, squeezes, and when he opens his mouth to scream water floods in and chokes him until the only thing he can see is the grinning maw of the sea serpent, before it finally strikes-_

Dipper wakes with a long, body-wracking shudder, gasping for air while his body tries to expel water that doesn't exist. He sits up, coughing violently, and his forehead collides with another.

He holds his throbbing cranium and peers upwards. Bill grins at him, an impressive red mark already blooming on his forehead, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. "Good morning, my wielder!" he chirps. Dipper frowns and wiggles his hips, which are pinned by Bill, who is sitting in his lap.

"Were you... watching me sleep?"

Bill nods eagerly and Dipper wrinkles his nose in distaste, shoving the demon off of his bed. Bill lands gracefully on his feet. "Mental link, remember? I can peek into your mind whenever I want." Bill sits on the edge of Dipper's bed, barely stirring the springs, and crosses his legs primly. "That was some nightmare, eh? I say the ocean symbolizes some sort of horrible internal struggle."

Bill lapses into a long tangent about nightmares and Dipper nurses his still throbbing forehead. "Okay, Bill," Dipper interrupts and the demon shoots him a dirty look, "first of all it is way too fucking early for this shit. Second, hand me my phone."

Bill releases an indignant puff of air. "Do it yourself, I'm not your slave." He shoots Dipper one last spiteful glare, then stomps off, leaving Dipper to struggle out of bed on his own. He must have hit a nerve.

He scoops up his phone and hits the speed-dial. It must be around noon in New York, where Mabel took up a career in fashion design after deciding that the joy her sweaters bring must be spread to everyone. Dipper hopes he's not interrupting her while she's working.

The phone rings twice, then his sister's voice, excited and cheerful, comes through.

_"Hey, bro-bro! What's cooking?"_

"Ah, just... Stuff."

Dipper's gut twists and a bout of anxiety washes over him. Would Mabel even believe him? Would she even be able to travel across the country to help out her whining, dependent brother? Dipper grits his teeth.

_"Stuff? Hope it's writing stuff. How's the soul-searching coming? Making progress?"_

"No."

_"What? Dipper Pines, do I have to come down there and force you to-"_

"Actually, yeah. You need to come over."

_"...What? Why?"_

Dipper clenches his hands, takes a deep breath, and tells Mabel what he's experienced and what he's been told. As the words flow from his lips, the full reality of what happened to him sets in. He almost can't believe himself.

When he finishes his tale, Mabel is silent. For a brief moment Dipper fears she hung up. _“A sword demon, huh? And some ancient Pines legacy?"_

"I know it's hard to believe, but-"

_"No, no, I believe you! You wouldn't lie to me about something this weird. I'm just worried."_

"About what? The bloodthirsty demon? Your job? Our possible approaching deaths?"

_"Well, yeah, but I'm worried about you. Are you okay? Like, okay okay? Have you had any attacks?"_

"No, but I've come pretty close." Dipper takes a shuddering breath. His anxiety hasn't flared up in any incredibly worrying way, but a panic attack seemed inevitable at this rate. His stress returned full force, settling like an uncomfortable weight on his chest.

_"Dipper? Are you there? I'm sorry if I upset you-"_

"No, it's not you," he assures. "I just... I didn't wanna get wrapped up in this shit. I just wanted to brainstorm and write a good novel."

_"I know, everything will be just fine. Hey, I just booked a flight for Portland. I'll be there in a jiffy."_

Dipper exhales. "Thank you so much, Mabel. I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

_"Hey, what are siblings for? I have another, more important job to do over there. Plus, I can just do my work online no problem."_

"That's good. I'll see you soon, Mabel."

 _"After a while, crocodile,”_ she replies. Dipper laughs for the first time since he arrived in Gravity Falls as she hangs up.

Dipper gazes at his phone for a while longer, almost squirming with the anticipation of seeing his sister again for the first time since the holidays. He grins like an idiot, then finally rolls out of bed to mentally steel himself for whatever shit the day decides to throw at him.

He dresses in jeans and a warm flannel- the gloomy gray sky outside promises a summer shower -and goes through his morning routine with an unusually good mood. Mabel has been known for her contagious optimism.

He heads to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Stan sits at the table with his slippered feet propped up and the Gravity Falls newspaper in one hand, a beer in the other. The front page contains a story about a recent wolf attack. Bill is, surprisingly, nowhere in sight.

"I take it she's coming?" Stan glances up from the paper and spies the huge smile Dipper sports. Dipper nods enthusiastically and Stan chortles, "Good, good. You'll need the support kid."

Speaking of support. "Where is the little terror, anyway?" he asks, busying himself with making coffee. The warm mug feels comforting in his hands. "Breaking something? Should I be worried?"

"Nah, he's in the living room."

_"I heard that comment, Pine Tree, and I don't appreciate it!"_

Dipper winces and rubs his forehead, which throbs at the reminder of his and Bill's close encounter. He heaves a sigh, already feeling his good mood shrivel up like a grape left in the sun. Stan has the good graces to look sympathetic for an instant, before he's lifting a paper and waving Dipper off.

"Thanks for the help," Dipper mutters bitterly, clutching his mug as if it could protect him from another headache, or a mental breakdown. He shuffles into the living room where Bill is curled up on the couch and engrossed with the television. It's a rerun of a show from Dipper's childhood, some little animated show about a duck gallivanting as a detective. Bill grunts and shoots him a dark look when Dipper walks in. “I am not little. You are just freakishly tall.”

"Whatever floats your boat. Good show?" Dipper takes a sip of his coffee to hide his smirk. It burns down his throat.

"Shh!" Bill hisses. "I have been asleep for thirty years. I need to catch up on silly human media, and find out who murdered old man Jones."

Dipper raises an eyebrow and sits beside Bill on the couch. He watches the show for a few moments. "It was his son."

 _"What?!"_ Bill lunges for him and Dipper gives a- very manly -squeal of fright. Despite being almost four inches shorter than Dipper and having about half of his body mass, Bill manages to pin him down with surprising strength. Dipper knocks the back of his head against the hard armrest. At this rate, he wouldn't be surprised if he had a concussion.

"Ow, Bill! Your nails are too fucking sharp!" Dipper hisses, glancing to where Bill is holding his wrists down. His grip only tightens. "It's just a kid's show, get the hell off me!"

“ _Just a kid’s show,_ ” Bill echoes, “Pine Tree, I don't think you quite understand the importance of Duck-tective! You just had to go and ruin it, you _useless wielder-_ "

Dipper inhales deeply, rolling his eyes as Bill rants at him. A brief glance to the side and he spots Stan in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Alright, that's enough rough housing," Stan waves his hands and Bill whips his head around to direct his glare to Stan. They have a long glaring contest, the tension in the air almost palpable. It ends when Bill scoffs and releases Dipper's wrist, climbing off the unfortunate human and pouting on the other end of the couch. Dipper gives him an exasperated sigh.

"It's time to get to work now, you rascals."

Bill's pout disappears in an instant, Dipper worries about dealing with such mood swings in the future, and he bounces on the couch. "Oh, finally, some action! Let's get going already!" He grabs Dipper's wrist and stands, pulling him along, but Dipper stubbornly digs his feet into the shag carpet.

"Wait, what exactly are we starting?" He asks Stan.

"Your _training_ , you idiotic protozoan," Bill answers, looking like a child in a candy store, "We need to link up, get in sync! And you need to learn how to use a sword. You got lucky with the chimera."

Stan blinks in shock, then directs a glare to Dipper. "Chimera? What chimera?"

"Well-"

"Don't worry about it, old man!" Bill resumes trying to tug Dipper along, but he wrenches his wrist away.

"I'm not doing any training with you until Mabel gets here.” He crosses his arms. Bill scowls at him, his fists clench and unclench as if he’s holding himself back from socking Dipper in the face.

“Dipper, you _have_ to,” Stan says, shooting a wary glance at Bill, who’s grinding his jaw together. “You gotta take responsibility now. This is your job.”

“My job,” Dipper snaps, rounding on his uncle, “is to write a fucking novel.”

“Kid, you-“

“I don’t wanna hear it! I don’t wanna hear any of this destiny bullshit until Mabel gets here!” Dipper shoulders past Bill and snatches his hat off of the counter. He shoves it angrily onto his head and wrenches the front door open. He sees Stan throw his hands in the air and wave him off, before the door slams shut behind him.

“Wow, kid, you need to chill out.”

Dipper jumps and turns, finding Bill standing casually on the front porch. Dipper furrows his brow, looks between the demon and the door closed behind him, and decides that he should just stop questioning things before he grays prematurely.

He glowers at Bill, but otherwise ignores him, shoving roughly past him. Bill cackles and springs after him, matching his pace. “What’re you doing? You gotta face your grand destiny.”

“I’m _walking_. Didn’t know it was that hard for you to figure out, must’ve knocked loose a few screws when you were sleeping, huh?”

Dipper keeps his gaze stubbornly forward. He hears an exasperated sigh from Bill, then a hand on his shoulder stops his angry gait. “Listen up, kiddo,” Bill says, stepping into his field of vision so Dipper has no choice but to look at him. “This lineage of yours is far more important than any of your pathetic objections. Personal morals? Physical limitations? Throw them out the window, because they don’t matter.”

Bill takes a step closer and Dipper flinches, but stands his ground. If he was supposed to be the wielder of this demon, then dammit he isn’t going to sit here and let Bill  _bully_ him. “My _sanity_ matters, doesn’t it? Gotta be in tip-top shape for killing whatever the fuck,” Dipper retorts. Bill opens his mouth to reply but Dipper cuts him off, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward. His height advantage gives him a boost of confidence. “If you want me to keep any part of my cool, then you won’t object to me waiting until my _‘watcher’_ is here, right? The most I’ll be doing with you while she’s gone is _tolerating_ you. Got it?”

Bill is surprisingly silent, staring up at him in mild surprise. He seems impressed, almost, but Dipper refuses to dwell on it. He breaks into a jog, ignoring his horrible work-out outfit. He needs to blow off some steam.

Bill laughs, some distance behind him, and follows. “Not bad, kid. You actually have a spine, unlike those before you. You remind me of your grandfather-“

“Bill, will you _please_ shut up?” Bill actually complies, and for the rest of his jog Dipper is only mildly annoyed by his constant presence and the infuriating way he sticks his foot out occasionally to trip him up. Dipper can only count down the hours until Mabel finally arrives. God knows he needs the support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Rising by OTEP


	4. Arms Dealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fitting you with weapons in the form of words_   
>  _And don't really care which side wins_   
>  _As long as the room keeps singing_   
>  _That's just the business I'm in_

Dipper taps his foot, standing stiffly in the Portland Airport as he waits for Mabel's plane to arrive. Off to the side, just out of the corner of his eye, Bill plays with a water fountain. He seems enchanted by the water spurting out every time he presses the button.

Dipper heaves a sigh and drags his hands down his face. The days leading up to Mabel's arrival had been rough, to say the least. Bill, offended by his refusal to start training right away, had grown restless and aggressive with pent-up energy. Dipper woke up every morning with a grinning face hovering too close and soon had Bill shoving him out the front door to go exercise. Almost every waking hour became a battle for his patience, but soon he wouldn't have to bear the weight of Bill's boundless energy and concerning bloodlust by himself.

He fumes as Bill walks back to his side, twirling his top-hat around one finger and gaining more than a few odd looks from the travelers around them. Dipper pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Did you have to bring that stupid thing?" He mutters.

"Yes, Pine Tree! It's an antique, I've had it since the Victorian era."

"I'm just surprised Stan let you keep that dusty thing. You look like you just stepped out of _Downton Abbey_."

Bill squints at him and Dipper recalls Bill’s ignorance in the subject of modern popular culture. Dipper sighs, for probably the thirtieth time today. "You have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yes, teach me the ins and outs of popular culture. First question for you: what, exactly, is 'twerking'?"

Dipper sends a prayer up to any deity that may be listening to give him the patience to deal with Bill for just another hour.

The intercom clicks and a polite female voice announces that Mabel's flight has just arrived. Dipper eagerly peers over the heads of people flooding in through the doors, looking for a familiar smile and brightly colored sweater. Bill is roughly shoved into his side by the crowd but Dipper pays no heed to him, only grabbing his sleeve to make sure he doesn’t run off and rip whoever pushed him into pieces. He finally spots his sister walking towards him, wheeling a pastel pink and extravagantly bedazzled suitcase behind her. He grins and all of his worries disappear in an instant as she comes to a stop in front of him.

She looks him up and down, her face cold. "Dipper." She says, her tone clipped.

"Mabel," he replies, schooling his expression to match hers. They stare at each other for a few beats. Dipper's face begins to ache and Mabel's lips quiver, before she breaks the facade and leaps into his arms. Her laugh chimes like music to his ears and he swings her around, pure elation bubbling in him and escaping as quiet laughter.

He finally sets her down. Mabel's face is flushed with laughter and her shoulders shake with residue giggles. "How was the flight?" Dipper asks. Mabel opens her mouth to reply, but a certain someone, who Dipper admittedly forgot about, steps between them.

"And you must be Mabel! Ah, it's a pleasure," Bill bows and takes Mabel's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Mabel blinks, then shifts her confused gaze to Dipper. He spots a slight flush on her cheeks and scowls. The last thing he needs is for Mabel to develop a crush on the weird sword demon.

"That's Bill," he mutters. The demon huffs and straightens as Mabel nods in understanding. Thankfully, the flush disappears.

"So... I guess I'm your watch-out-"

"Watcher."

"-yeah, watcher. And..." she stares at Bill, eying him up and down. "This is resident weapon of mass destruction."

Bill guffaws. "Why, I wouldn't say mass destruction, Shooting Star, but yes. Oh, you are a flatterer!"

"Hush, you. None of your sweet-talking demon-y tricks will work on me! I will take my job very seriously and I won't stand for goofing off, now let's hop to it! I'm sure we'll be best buds in no time!"

Bill seems amused, judging by the way his face splits into a grin and he salutes her. Dipper loops an arm around his twin's shoulder and pulls her close, leading her out of the airport. Bill walks beside them, bouncing with every step. "I missed you," Dipper whispers to her, cautious of Bill overhearing, "and I'm happy you're here, but I'm sorry you were dragged into this. It's gonna be rough."

Mabel looks up at him for a few moments, her brow furrowed and a pout on her face, then pinches his side. Dipper yelps and jumps away, lest he falls victim once more to her nicely manicured nails. "One, I missed you too bro-bro. Two, you did not force me, I came of my own free will. Three, I'll be fine, stop worrying and stop babying me before you gray prematurely."

Dipper laughs and stifles his worries, though they linger at the back of his mind and ferment. She's strong, far stronger than he is, and capable, but Dipper’s gut twists at the mere thought of something happening to her. Mabel instantly engages Bill in a conversation about his outfit, how she loves its style, and Bill's amused, if slightly confused, face is priceless.

Dipper watches them and forces a smile. She'll be fine.

* * *

The drive back is surprisingly uneventful. Dipper managed to convince Stan to let him use the old man’s equally old car, and Bill spent the whole drive fiddling with the radio and chattering energetically with Mabel. Dipper can’t fathom how the two manage to contain so much endless energy, though he hopes Mabel’s optimism will outweigh Bill’s unsettling nature.

They return to the Mystery Shack in time to spot a redheaded woman walking up the driveway, dressed much like a lumberjack, intense amounts of flannel and all. She turns slightly to glance back at them and waves, and Dipper is floored by how pretty she is.

Bill, who sits in the backseat, crawls forward and peers through the windshield. “Ah, a Corduroy, eh? Lovely, lovely!”

Dipper barely has time to look confused before Bill scrambles out of the car and chases after her. Dipper swears, fumbling with his seatbelt, and trips his way out just in time to see Bill tap the redheaded girl on the shoulder. There’s a gust of air, then Mabel is by Bill’s side, grinning brightly and introducing herself. Dipper sighs, grabs Mabel’s surprising amount of luggage in both hands, and approaches the trio. He observes how Mabel subtly places herself in between Bill and the pretty woman and takes all of her attention. Bill doesn’t miss it either, judging by his scowl.

The woman glances up and spots Dipper. She smiles and twiddles her fingers in a wave. Dipper, surprised to be the center of her attention, hurries to wave back, but his arms are too full of luggage. A few of Mabel’s suitcases slip out of his hands and he swears angrily.

“Dipper! Be careful, there are priceless sweaters in there that cannot be seen by the eyes of mortal men!” Bill raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth- “Or Bill, for that matter!” -and closes it again.

“Yes, yes, sorry your majesty,” Dipper huffs, bending down to scoop up the dropped luggage, when he spots a pair of hiking boots. He looks up- he’s totally not checking her out -and smiles sheepishly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies. “Need some help there, big guy?”

“Uh, you don’t have to-” She ignores him and lifts two suitcases, putting them over either shoulder. She tosses her hair out of her face and gives him an easy-going smile. At this distance, Dipper can make out the color of her eyes. They’re a soft, gentle forest green.

“It’s no problem, dude. The name’s Wendy, by the way. Wendy Corduroy.”

Dipper swallows. When did his mouth get so dry? “I’m Pipper Dines-” Shit. “I mean Dipper Pines.” Nailed it. Just over Wendy’s shoulder he sees Mabel slap her forehead, Bill beside her with a sour look on his face.

Wendy chuckles. “Well, Dipper, I work here, so I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Dipper stands, hefting Mabel’s remaining luggage under his arms. “Y-Yeah. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Wendy nods and turns on her heel, hopping up the front steps and pushing her way through the front door. “Hey, boss! Where do you want these?”

Dipper stares after her, blinking slowly like he just got hit over the head with a blunt object. God, she’s so cool, and so pretty, and she could probably bench press him- Mabel steps into his view and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey, earth to lovebird!” Her teasing remark snaps him back to the present. She has a knowing smirk on her face, one that can only mean disaster for her unfortunate twin. “I’ll take in the rest. Try not to get your drool on the carpet.”

She wrenches her suitcases out of his arms. “I am not drooling!” he calls after her, but she only shoots a cruel laugh over her shoulder. Dipper throws his arms up. Siblings. Cautiously, he wipes at his chin, and scowls when he finds a thin trail of saliva.

_Real smooth, Dipper. Real smooth._

**I’ll say.**

Dipper jumps, whirling around to find Bill at his shoulder. The demon’s arms are crossed and he’s tapping one expensively dressed foot like he's some sort of disappointed teacher. Dipper blinks down at him.

“...What did I do?”

“It’s what you are _planning_ to do,” Bill spits, glowering up at him. Dipper would be lying if he says the way Bill’s blue eye flashes doesn’t slightly terrify him. “It’s ill advised to form substantial relationships outside of your duties. I saw the way you looked at the Corduroy girl. Don’t. Do. It.”

Dipper snorts, shaking his head. “Do you think you can just tell me what to do, Bill? I’m a fucking adult, and I’m pretty sure I can date _whoever the fuck I want._ ”

Bill’s face briefly contorts into a scowl and Dipper has a fraction of a second to think _oh shit_ , before the demon’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s shoved violently into the wall of the Mystery Shack. “Listen up, _Dipper_ ,” the use of his name makes him shiver, “your attitude has been slightly amusing up until now. I am above you. You, as the wielder, have no power over me. My word is above yours, you are to come at my beck and call and _do as I say_ , so we can kill things better and save your stupid race.” Bill’s grip tightens on his shoulders and he feels a brief surge of pain. _“Got it?”_

Bill leans closer, so close that Dipper can almost feel his breath, hot on his face. Dimly, Dipper realizes the demon is standing on tip-toes to glare at him, and a quiet laugh slips through his unease.

He snaps his mouth shut and prays that Bill didn’t catch it. Unfortunately, he did. His lips curl in a snarl and he rears back, “Why, you _little-_ ”

Dipper can only close his eyes to prepare for whatever blow comes his way, but just in time the door to the Shack screeches open. “Dipper? What’s going on?”

Bill freezes in place, and after enough time passes Dipper judges it safe enough to open his eyes. Mabel looks over the railing of the porch, concern painted on her features. She meets Bill’s gaze, then wipes away all worry. She straightens, standing tall, looking down at the demon. “Unhand him. Now.”

Bill growls, and they’re still close enough that Dipper can actually feel the rumble in his chest. Bill clenches his teeth and slowly uncurls his fingers from Dipper’s shoulders. He takes a step back, looking everywhere but at the twins, then storms into the Shack. Dipper rests his head against the wooden wall and rub his shoulders, wincing at the bruises that would no doubt form later.

“You okay?” Mabel asks, her voice soft. Dipper smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

“I’m fine Mabes. He’s all bark and no bite.”

Mabel doesn’t look convinced, but relaxes at the use of her nickname. “Yeah, I guess. Just, try not to piss him off more.”

“Heh, I’m already on his shitlist. You looked pretty badass back there, too. All important and watcher-y.”

She brightens at that, and waves her hand to beckon him inside. “Good. Grunkle Stan says he’s gonna open up the Shack soon! Something about how ‘money never waits for destiny’ or whatever. He’s a little loony, isn’t he.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Inside the gift shop, Wendy sits behind the cash register with her phone in her hands. Bill, leaning against the counter, looks up as they come in and scowls, turning his nose up and glaring at some point on a nearby wall. Stan looks up from a row of knick-knacks and squints at them, muttering something about ‘damn kids’ before striding past them to the window. He flips the closed sign to open.

“Alright, you two. Now that you’re all settled and I have officially run out of storage space,” Mabel has the good graces to at least look sheepish, “it’s time to get to business. Dipper, handyman,” he points to a rusty toolbox on a stool behind him and Dipper worries about tetanus. “Wendy, register.”

“Roger dodger.”

“Mabel, I’ll show you the ropes to giving tours and getting money. And Bill…” Bill turns his head and gives a deadpan look to Stan. “...Try not to break anything.”

“No promises.”

Dipper, Mabel, and Stan sigh collectively. It will have to do. Wendy glances up from her phone. “Am I missing something here?”

“Kid, I value your hard work, so I won’t tell you.”

Wendy shrugs and leaves it at that.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Bill kept no promises, and somehow managed to break the sink, the toilet, the ceiling fan, the porch light, and the golf cart. Each time he breaks something he skips over, taps Dipper on the shoulder, and notifies him of the problem with an obnoxious, shit-eating grin on his face. Somehow, their battle of wills had evolved into full-out warfare, with Bill constantly trying his patience and the wrench in Dipper’s hands begins to look more and more appealing every time he has to fix whatever Bill sabotaged.

Dipper squats under the counter, muttering bitterly to himself as he fixes the cash register, which Bill somehow broke with a t-shirt and a scarf. Wendy looks sympathetic and scoots out of his way. At least the day is almost over, with Stan a few pennies heavier and a busload or two of tourists with far lighter wallets.

Dipper slams his fist against the register twice and it chimes, then slides open. “There,” he huffs, standing and stretching his arms over his head. He glances furtively at Wendy out of the corner of his eye, but she pays no heed to his impressive musculature. He sighs and moves back from around the counter. Bill catches his eye, the demon had been staring at him intently, and Dipper sticks his tongue out like the mature adult he is.

_Try and break something again, fucker._

**Why, Pine Tree, I don’t know what you’re talking about.**

_You know full well what I’m talking about, you overgrown toothpick._

Bill grins at him as Mabel walks into the gift shop, counting a wad of cash, with Stan at her heels. “You have a natural talent for scamming, kiddo,” he says, clapping her shoulders. “I’m so proud. You’ll do me good, I know it.”

Mabel bows. Dipper rolls his eyes at their antics.

“Well, it’s been a good haul. Let’s just close up and have a few drinks, eh?” Stan walks to the door, reaching his hand out to flip the sign again. Wendy whoops in agreement and slides off her stool.

The bell chimes as the door opens again and she groans instead. Dipper sends her a look and she shrugs. Just one more customer, then it’s time to wind down.

“Oi, we’re closed,” Stan says to the man who walks inside. His skin is light, almost transparent, like he hasn’t seen any sun in weeks. His eyes, an odd pale blue, shift around to the sign on the door.

“No, you aren’t,” he says, his voice strange and warbled, as if he’s speaking through a glass tube. He clears his throat. “I’m just looking around. Don’t worry, I’ll be out in a jiffy,” he smiles and Dipper stiffens. His teeth are like needles.

Then he blinks and they’re perfectly normal.

Dipper furrows his brow as the man walks casually around, scooping up a snow globe to examine, before replacing it. He must be tired from working all day. Must be.

The chimera briefly comes to mind and Dipper inwardly reprimands himself for brushing off unusual things. He glances at Bill, who has his eyes trained on the stranger just as intently. He turns his head and meets Dipper’s eyes. He blinks slowly, twice.

**Yeah, this guy’s not normal.**

_Well, any ideas?_

His hair is a dark blue, almost navy, and cut to his chin, but it doesn’t appear to be dyed. Aside from that brief image, he seems perfectly normal. His build is slender and he moves fluidly throughout the gift shop, tossing a snow globe from hand to hand. Almost like-

**A serpent?**

Dipper’s nightmare flashes briefly in his mind’s eye and he exhales slowly. Whoever this guy was, maybe he was what his odd premonition was about. A warning? He finally stops in front of the cash register and places the knick-knack gently on the counter. “Just this, please.”

Wendy rings him up quickly and soon the man is walking to the door. He thanks Stan politely for his business. His hand is on the doorknob when Dipper stops him.

“Wait,” he calls, and Bill whips his head around, giving Dipper a wide-eyed stare.

**Pine Tree, what are you _doing-_**

_Just trust me, okay?_

Bill purses his lips and the man slowly turns. Dipper meets his gaze, recalling how Mabel held herself earlier when she confronted Bill. Shoulders back. Chin up. Inhale, exhale.

_I am a wielder. I can do this._

“What’s your name?”

The man seems surprised by the question, his thin eyebrows raising. “Levi,” he responds curtly, then disappears out the door. The bell chimes softly, then silence.

Everyone in the Shack collectively releases a breath they weren’t aware they were holding. “Customers just keep getting weirder and weirder,” Stan remarks as he finally flips the sign to closed.

Dipper turns his head, expecting to see Bill at his side, and isn’t disappointed. The demon appears deep in thought, eyebrows pinched. His blue eye seems dim and relaxed, not glowing with wild fury, while the gold one glints like the metal it resembles. His gaze is sharp, betraying his true nature to those who know to look for it.

“I’ve got a feeling,” Bill mutters, snapping Dipper out of his oddly focused thoughts about the colors of Bill’s eyes.

_“That tonight’s gonna be a good night!”_ Mabel sings as she passes them. Dipper can’t contain his laugh and releases the tension in his body. He follows her to the kitchen, but the demon stops him with a hand on his arm.

**Careful, Pine Tree. We may be dealing with something big here.**

Bill’s voice echoes in his mind, grim and serious, so Dipper shoves aside his annoyance and grievances and nods solemnly in return.

_Of course. This is my job now, isn’t it?_

Bill grins. **That’s the spirit.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from This Ain't a Scene, It's An Arms Race by Fall Out Boy  
> The song Mabel sings is I've Gotta Feelin' by The Black Eyed Peas


	5. The Opposite of Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And you're a cherry blossom_   
>  _You're about to bloom_   
>  _You look so pretty, but you're gone so soon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late AND shorter than usual. eh, im off my A-game  
> also, second fall out boy song in a row, holla

After the appearance of Levi, who Stan insists he had never seen around town before that day, everyone in the Mystery Shack found themselves constantly on edge. Mabel made sweaters by the bucket load, and found a small store that would sell them for her to boot, but Dipper noticed the slight tremble in her hands when she knitted and sewed. Stan snapped at everyone more often than usual and even Wendy, who has no idea what is going on, found herself subconsciously looking over her shoulder every so often.

When Bill set a house fly on fire- resulting in Dipper having to hide the matches and keep aerosol cans far, far away from the demon -Stan decided it was time to stop sitting on their asses and get to business.

As soon as the weekend rolls around and the Shack closes to tourists, Dipper finds himself up before the sun and standing on the front lawn of the Mystery Shack, shivering due to his mysterious lack of a shirt. Sweatpants can only offer so much warmth.

Bill stands beside him and can't seem to sit still for a second. He twiddles his thumbs and squirms and fills the once peaceful crisp morning air with his incessant chatter. Dipper glowers at him, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Mabel stands on his other side, alert but thankfully not nearly as hyperactive as Bill.

"Alright, gentlemen!" Stan barks, dressed in his usual Mystery Shack get up, which Dipper finds ill-fitting for what he assumes will become a large amount of exercise. "And lady," Mabel grins and salutes him, "today marks your first official day of training as the newest generation of Pines assigned to the weighty task of utilizing Bill Cipher, patron to the Pines family and blah, blah, blah, you get the point. Mabel Pines!"

Mabel, who had been staring into space for a good minute, snaps to attention. "Here, Mr. Grunkle sir!"

"You won't have to lift a finger," Mabel punches the air in relief. "Your main focus, as watcher, is aiding the wielder as much as possible. You will be using magic to aid your brother in battle and heal him, if he slips up and needs it."

Mabel nods and whispers, awestruck, "I've finally fulfilled my dream of becoming an RPG character..."

"Yeah, kid, whatever that means," Stan says, digging into the inside pocket of his suit. With a flourish he produces a dusty, beaten up red journal, with a golden six-fingered palm on the front and a number indicating it's the first. Dipper watches, perplexed, as Stan brushes the dust off of the cover reverently and hands it to Mabel. "That was your grandfather's," Stan sighs. "It will teach you everything you need to know. Treat it like a newborn baby!" Mabel nods furiously, eyes wide, and hugs the book to her chest.

**How curious...** Bill's voice echoes in Dipper's mind and he glances at him curiously, but the demon didn't seem to notice he _thought_ out loud.

"On the other hand, Dipper Pines!" Dipper jumps in surprise and is rewarded with a harsh slap to the back of the head. "Wake up, kid! Do not take this shit lightly, you need to be almost constantly on your toes if you want to avoid having your brain turned into jelly by blondie over here!"

"Well, he's not wrong," Bill muses as an irate Dipper rubs the back of his head. "Honestly, don't overestimate yourself. Wielders die if they get cocky. You need to- wait, did you just call me _blondie?_ "

"Moving on!" Stan says, ignoring Bill's indignant stare. "As Bill's previous wielder, I'm stuck with teaching you brats how to defend against any big nasty that may come our way. It's our job to make sure nothing in this town escapes to the rest of the world, otherwise it'd be pure chaos!"

"I don't see what's wrong with that."

"Bill, no one asked for your opinion."

"Fine, fine, shutting up."

"Anyway," Grunkle Stan huffs, "from this moment forward your lives are almost constantly on the line. An early death is a side effect of being a Pines, unfortunately."

Stan pauses and a heavy pause fills the air, weighted by the implications of Stan's warning. They could all die, probably in a horrible, violent manner. Well, except for Bill, who seems nonplussed by the whole 'imminent demise' thing. Dipper's attention shifts to Stan, and he barely keeps himself from flinching at the look of pure, unbridled pain on the old man's face. Dipper steals a glance at his twin, who must have also noticed judging by her pursed lips and creased brow.

"I need you two to give this your all. Can you promise me that?" Mabel and Dipper are so stunned by Stan's brief display of vulnerability that they nod without a word. Bill has been unusually silent, and when Dipper glances at the demon out of his peripheral, Bill is hiding an amused smirk behind one gloved hand. Dipper turns his gaze forward and can't help but scowl.

_Asshole._

**Hmm, did you think something?**

He refuses to dignify Bill with a response. "Now, time for the dirty work." Stan nods once and Bill grasps Dipper's wrist. A bright light fills the area, a glow Dipper is slowly becoming accustomed to, then the weight of Bill's sword form rests in his hands.

"That is one big sword," Mabel gapes. It's certainly taller than she is. She runs her fingers along the strange design etched in Bill's hilt and a devious smirk curls across her face. Dipper knows that look. "...Do you think he's compensating for something?"

**Excuse me?!**

Stan guffaws and hunches over, wheezing with laughter. Dipper purses his lips and maintains a look of innocence, even as Bill's shrill, angry voice fills his head.

"Alright, alright, enough games. Dipper, right foot forward! Tighten up that stance, it's so flimsy a breeze could knock you over!"

Dipper does as he's told, moving his bare foot forward, then sliding it back when Stan walks forward and taps at his ankle with his cane. "Not too much, kid. You aren't bowlegged."

Dipper hefts Bill up and rests the flat of the blade against his shoulder, keeping both hands wrapped around the hilt. _Is there a point to this?_

**Of course, Pine Tree,** Bill replies, and the sword vibrates against his shoulder as if Bill is talking with his face pressed against Dipper's skin. It's an odd sensation and he suppresses a shudder. Stan snaps at him and he resists the urge to roll his eyes like an impudent teenager and does as he's told. **The intricacies of swordplay involve much more than swinging me like a maniac! I thought you were smarter than this.**

Dipper glares at the sword as Stan steps back and examines his stance. Shoulders back, right foot forward, but not too forward, both hands gripping the hilt and ready to swing. "Alright, let's test it," Stan says. "Mabel, if you please."

His twin, who had taken a seat on the porch and had the old book propped open in her lap, snaps the book shut, jumps up, and darts to his side. "Prepare yourself, brother of mine," she warns, before slamming into his side. Dipper yelps and strains to keep his balance against the sudden onslaught of Mabel, but soon has a face full of grass and dirt.

"See why we practice your stance, now? Again!"

Mabel giggles and offers her hand. Dipper takes it and pulls himself up, shaking off the brief dizziness. **Hm, impressive, Pine Tree. At this rate you may be able to make our enemies laugh themselves to death.**

Dipper sighs. It's going to be a long day.

* * *

 

"Again!"

The sun rests at its peak in the sky, beating down harshly on Dipper's skin as he grunts and swings the blade in an arc. It whistles as it moves through the air, then imbeds itself in the soft grass.

"Come on, you attack like my mother! Now move into a right swing!"

Dipper bites his tongue to muffle his fatigued groan. His muscles burn as he yanks Bill out of the ground. He hasn't had this much of a workout since he gave crossfit a shot, and that was the worst mistake of his life, just a tad worse than accidentally finding Bill. At least Mabel hasn't been able to knock him over, at least not without tackling him like a football player.

He sucks in a breath and swings the sword to his right, twisting his body with the movement. He almost throws off his balance but he successfully catches himself in time. Seven hours of swinging a heavy sword with only sparse breaks and about a gallon of water could not be good for him. Quickly he adjusts his grip, and without prompting he swings again in an overhand arc. The blade hits the ground in front of him, slicing through the earth like butter. He takes two strides forward and uses his momentum to swing left. He follows a natural rhythm, punctuating a beat in his head with a heavy and violent swing or thrust forward, then two steps, and repeat.

_It really is just like dancing._

**Well, when you think of it like that, you aren't nearly as abhorrent. You're even a natural.**

He let's his body take over, muscles moving fluidly. He feels powerful. He doesn't even have to think about his movements.

_Of course I am, remember the whole destiny thing?_

**Don't get too cocky, kid. Incoming!**

As he brings the sword up for another overhand, Bill's warning interrupts his internal beat. He ducks just as Stan's cane whistles through where his head was the previous second. His momentum is almost too much to control and without thinking he propels the sword down, his instincts locking onto the thing that attacked him, screaming _danger!_

The sword stops mid-swing and Dipper nearly falls on his face. Stan parried the blow with his cane- what the hell is that thing even made of? -with what looked like zero effort. He pushes and the blade falls, landing harmlessly on the grass beside him.

Dipper's mind clears and he shakes his head. Mabel applauds enthusiastically, whooping and shouting "Look at how badass my nerdy twin is! Yeah, kick his ass, Dipper!"

"Hmph, not bad kid. Just don't get too carried away," Stan says and Dipper assumes that's the best praise he's going to get. "Let's take a lunch break, eh?"

"Oh thank god," Dipper groans, releasing his white-knuckled grip on the sword's hilt and dropping to his knees. There's a glow out of the corner of his eye then a pair of immaculately dressed, slender legs enter his view.

"I'm impressed, Pine Tree!" Bill exclaims, wrapping a hand around Dipper's upper arm and hauling him to his feet. "I thought you would have passed out from heat stroke by now!"

Dipper laughs breathlessly, muscles screaming in protest as he stands. "Bill, I'm from California. This is nothing," Dipper pants. He tries to take a step forward and stumbles, but Bill catches him just in time.

"Ah, the wonders of the fragile human form," he muses, placing Dipper's arm around his shoulders and supporting him as they walk towards the Shack.

"Are you being facetious?"

Dipper sees Bill's wide grin out of the corner of his eye. "When am I _not_ facetious, Pine Tree?"

"True."

Bill shifts, "You know what, I think you might have actually pulled something. Also, you stink."

Dipper laughs again as they walk into the Shack. He's grateful, believe it or not, for the demon's dry humor. Bill deposits him into a chair in the kitchen and when Mabel shoves an ice cold glass of lemonade into his hands he’s so happy he could cry. He downs it in a few gulps.

"Slow down, warrior," Mabel teases, then her nose wrinkles. "Eugh, Bill's right, you smell like B.O., go take a shower." Dipper's protest is cut off by a spatula waved in his face. "Get goin'! Lunch will be ready when you're done. Bill, step away from the burner."

Dipper shrugs and complies, mentally agreeing that, yes, he smells horrid. As he walks up the stairs, he turns and glances behind him. Mabel has the red book open on the counter and is pointing something on the page out to Bill, who's sipping from a can of soda and nodding along. He answers whatever question she asks and she grins brightly.

Dipper allows himself a soft smile and climbs up the rest of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Centuries by Fall Out Boy


	6. Sick Ideas Involving Me, Involving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We've got obsessions_   
>  _I wanna erase every nasty thought_   
>  _That bugs me every day of every week_   
>  _We've got obsessions_   
>  _You never told me what it was that made you strong_   
>  _And what it was that made you weak_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is very late so to make up for it it is very long. schools over for me tho so more time for writing yay

Two weeks pass right under Dipper’s nose. He and Mabel quickly grew accustomed to life in Gravity Falls, right down to the strange quirks of its various inhabitants. Mabel, as charismatic as she is, made friends in the blink of an eye: Grenda, a large, and slightly intimidating, but kind girl who works at the clothing store Mabel sold shirts to; and Candy, a Korean girl who speaks with confidence and sports a smile that can almost always mean trouble. Candy works as a graphic artist from her parents’ basement and Dipper was overjoyed to meet her. She promised to help him out with the cover of whatever book he published, so long as he payed her.

Mabel’s sweater business is booming, despite the hot weather. The two, and Bill who they have to drag everywhere, would walk around town and always see at least one person wearing something she wore. Every time they did, Mabel’s eyes light up like the fairy lights that hang above her bed and she talks them into letting her take a picture of them sporting her Mabel-look. Each picture she prints out and pins carefully to the wall next to her bed, to motivate her whenever she feels discouraged. Their two spaces are looking more and more lived in by the day, sporting each of their characteristics; Dipper’s side of the room is almost drowning in books.

Despite the fun of working in the Mystery Shack and doing their own respective careers, their duties are still being upheld. Training is rigorous and Dipper almost always leaves a session feeling winded and like every muscle in his body is about to fail, but he’s getting stronger. He can do drills for longer periods of time and lift Bill in his sword form with little-to-no effort. He wondered why he was progressing so quickly- it took him months to switch from benching 20 pounds to 30 -and Stan gave him a half-assed explanation entailing Mabel’s magic powers and Bill’s influence on his body.

Mabel is also increasing in her strength, though in a different way from Dipper. Her body is, according to Bill, ‘more attuned to the magical energy of the universe’, and she can accomplish feats that, frankly, should not be possible according to the laws of physics. She heals him, including his tired muscles after training for too long, his head if he’s ever too far from Bill- damn that sword and his distance loophole. Once, Dipper sprained his ankle when Stan tripped him up during a sparring session, and Mabel rushed over and put her hands on him and the pain disappeared and his ankle was completely fine. He was floored, grabbing Mabel’s shoulders and rambling about how amazing she was, and if her smile seemed a little strained he didn’t say anything about it.

Bill is… Bill. He treats Dipper with a smidge more respect than their first few days stuck together, but still acts like the self-entitled asshole he always was. At least he’s not quite as terrifying, having been bumped down to incredibly unsettling, what with that grin he sometimes directs at Dipper that says _I know more than you do and you don’t know exactly what I know and it’s eating you alive._ He hits the nail on the head every time. Bill is temperamental, high-maintenance, cocky, sadistic, and, if Dipper’s completely honest with himself, extremely attractive. Dipper tries to chalk it up to the fact he hasn’t had a sexual relationship with someone since his sophomore year of college, but even he can tell his theory is bullshit.

He’s got the hots for a god damn _sword_. He prays daily that Mabel doesn’t find out and commence the ruthless onslaught of teasing, but dammit, he can’t help it. He always finds himself examining the slope of Bill’s throat, his slender body and his clear, tan skin, that Dipper just wants to mark and claim and- _woah woah woah woah._

He shakes himself out of these thoughts as he trails behind Bill, following him through the forest. He has to take Bill out ‘hunting’ every week to keep that bloodlust sated or the demon will lose it or something, and he doesn’t feel like having Bill pestering him about how bloodthirsty he is, so Dipper indulges. He and Dipper go out into the woods, alone, and hunt down any particularly nasty magical creature that Bill craves. Last week, it was a manticore- Dipper winces at the memory of claws digging into his arm -and this week it was a cerberus. No matter how many times he may witness it, the sight of Bill digging his hands into a fresh, bleeding corpse and sighing like he stepped into a jacuzzi on a cold winter day will always unsettle him.

Dipper’s gaze trails down to Bill’s black gloves, which are still stained red with blood, and he shudders. Why on earth he wants to hop on _that_ , he’ll never know. He feels a certain pair of mismatched eyes digging into him and glances up.

Bill’s smirking at him, like he’s in on some joke that Dipper isn’t, like there’s something stuck in his teeth and the demon is too much of an asswipe to let him know. Dipper furrows his brow.

“What?”

Bill’s smirk widens into a grin. “Nothing, nothing. You've just been staring at me for five minutes straight. At first I thought you finally lost it and went veggie on me, but you looked _hungry_.”

Dipper’s stomach twists into an unpleasant knot, then proceeds to sink to his toes. He _knows_. Maybe Dipper’s thoughts were too loud, Bill’s totally gonna give him shit for this-

“You look pale, kid. Demonic entity got your tongue?” _What?_ Bill’s wording creates a burst of panic that settles in his gut, writhing and forcing Dipper to take a step back when the demon takes a step towards him. This is _stupidly_ dangerous, he should not be having any of these kinds of thoughts about Bill and yet he stands motionless and lets the demon invade his space. “Do you have a fever or something? Ah, such fragile human bodies,” Bill’s eyes spark with something that hits Dipper like a slap to the cheek, and as the demon reaches up to feel his forehead, the panic mutates into defensive anger.

“I am not a toy,” Dipper snarls, shoving Bill back. The air surrounding them feels electrified.

“Of course not, Pine Tree,” the demon purrs, then he turns on his heel and keeps walking. Dipper exhales a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Dipper regains his senses and shakes his head wildly to clear the haze from his mind. He glares at Bill’s retreating back and determinedly looks everywhere but at Bill’s swaying hips. Dipper shudders, a hurricane of conflicting emotions thrashing inside him. He frowns at his shoes, kicking over a pebble. What exactly _is_ he feeling, then? Lust? Something more? He imagines himself taking Bill out to a candlelit dinner and rolls his eyes. _I’ll figure it out as I go along._

Bill chuckles and Dipper fights down his embarrassment. Too loud.

_Shut up, asshole._ Dipper snaps, jogging to catch up to the demon.

* * *

 

As soon as they return to the Mystery Shack, Bill excuses himself to go wash his gloves, his eyes intently trained on Dipper until he turns and saunters up the stairs. Dipper waits until he’s out of sight, then heaves a sigh and drags his hands down his face.

“Care to explain?”

Dipper jumps, turning to find Mabel leaning casually against the doorframe of the gift shop, both of her eyebrows raised. “E-explain what?” Dipper squeaks, looking everywhere but at his sister.

“...You’re blushing,” she remarks casually and Dipper swears, scrubbing his cheeks with his hands as if that would make it go away. “Bill, huh? Gotta admit, totally saw that coming. You have a thing for bad boys.”

“I do not have a _thing!_ ”

Mabel snorts and shakes her head, “You poor, misguided soul. Let big sister show you the way to _twu wuv-_ ”

“Mabel!” Dipper gasps, scandalized, taking steps back as Mabel approaches him, twiddling her fingers and cackling like a maniac. “No, don’t! Stay back, foul beast!”

“Your boyfriend isn’t here to save you now!” she shrieks, then jumps him, her dastardly fingers finding his sides and beginning a horrible onslaught of tickling, a fate worse than the most painful of deaths. Dipper howls and tries to squirm away, but she pins his legs down. “Oooh, Dipper _likes_ Bill! Do you want his _sword_ , bro-bro? Are you gonna _polish his hilt?_ ”

“Mabel- that is so- _wrong,_ ” Dipper manages to gasp between peals of laughter, shoving his hand into her face and pushing her off. She lands beside him with a small oof, then bursts into high-pitched giggles.

Eventually the two calm down, chests heaving. Mabel slowly sits up and brushes her hair out of her face.

“...Don’t tell Stan,” Dipper says, his voice quiet and meek just imagining the consequences of whatever fling he and Bill indulge. Mabel blinks at him, slowly, then sighs, hugging her knees to her chest as Dipper sits up on his elbows.

“I won’t, I promise,” she mutters, “but, he’s dangerous, Dipper.” She looks at him pleadingly and it tugs hard at his heartstrings. “Please be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Dipper sighs and nods, reaching over and taking her hand, lacing their fingers together. He squeezes her hand reassuringly. “I’ll be fine, I promise. If he breaks my heart or something, you totally have permission to shove him back into that dumb sword and we can leave forever.”

Mabel winces, then Dipper realizes something’s not right. She’s… hiding something from him. “A-about that, Dipper,” she says, squeezing his hand back. “Grunkle Stan… he told me something, a-about sealing Bill, and it-”

Another voice interrupts her. “It what?”

The twins turn quickly and find Bill standing behind them, his gloves dangling from his fingers, splotchy and fraying in places. Bill looks at them and shrugs. “What? The blood wouldn’t come out, so I used bleach.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mabel looks like she’s about ready to either pass out or strangle Bill for massacring innocent fabric. Instead she inhales slowly through her nose and stands. “Looks like we’re going on a shopping trip. You need new shirts anyway, Bill.”

Bill regards her coldly and Dipper wonders with a surge of fear just _what_ sealing Bill away entailed. The brief moment of frigidity disappears in an instant, and Bill’s cocky smile is back in place. “Great! Let’s hit the town, kids! Shop ‘til the all-encompassing fear of existences consumes you!”

Bill skips away, whistling, and Dipper looks at Mabel in exasperation, “I never know what the hell he’s talking-” he trails off when he sees Mabel’s face. She looks pale, close to tears. Her hands twist the hem of her cat-paw-patterned sweater. “...Mabel?”

She snaps out of whatever just took over her and looks at him in shock. “Nothing. Don’t worry. Tell you later.” She shoulders roughly past him and scoops the car keys off the counter of the gift shop. “We’re going out, Stan!”

Dipper hears a vague grunt of acceptance from the direction of the living room and assumes that’s the best yes they’re going to get. He follows Mabel, concern gnawing at him relentlessly. She’s standing by the driver side, trying to talk an energetic Bill out of driving.

He’ll interrogate her later, when a certain demon isn’t around to eavesdrop.

* * *

 

“How about these?”

“Ew, no.”

“Bill! You can’t wear _navy_ pants with _black_ shirts!”

“Just watch me, Shooting Star.”

“Ugh! Dipper, a little _help_ here!”

Dipper massages his forehead. He doesn’t know why the two keep _bickering_. Bill stubbornly refuses Mabel’s fashion advice, Dipper assumes because he just likes to piss people off for some reason, and Mabel grows more and more angry every time Bill walks out of his dressing room in some horrible mix of clashing colors and patterns until Mabel throws up her hands and they move to the next store.

This is their fifth store, a fancy boutique with way-too-expensive merchandise, which Dipper hopes is a sign that the endless arguments will come to a close as their budget is reached. “Just buy some of the shit you usually wear and be done with it,” Dipper grumbles as he picks at a loose string on his flannel.

“But I’ve worn the same thing for _sixty_ years, Pine Tree!” Bill whines, “I need a change of pace, a new identity. New generation, new me!”

Mabel groans, long and frustrated, and drags her hands down her face. “You gotta cooperate with me here, Bill!”

The two lapse into another round of arguing and Dipper sourly looks around the store, his chin resting in his hands. He watches people go about their business shopping, and even sees a middle-aged woman decked out in beads and sporting moccasins looking through a rack of brightly colored leggings.

“Hey!”

Dipper jumps at the voice, a shrill girlish one, and turns slowly. A woman about their age stands not far from them, sporting a pair of expensive looking sunglasses and tapping her heeled shoes impatiently. “I need to try on clothes. Move it.”

The woman blows a bubble from her minty gum and it pops, filling the silence that fell when she interrupted them. “...We’re still using it. Sorry,” Mabel says, offering her a shy smile. The girl scoffs and tosses perfectly straightened beach-blonde hair.

“You must be the new kids, right?” she says, removing her sunglasses and squinting at them. If it wasn’t for her bossy personality, Dipper might have thought she was hot. She _is_ , admittedly, in the sort of pampered model way. “Yeah, Pines, right? Ugh, what a hovel you two live in.” She grins at them and Dipper scowls, anger churning in his gut. Curiously, he looks at Bill, who’s grinning at her widely. Someone else he knows, maybe? “Listen, because you’re new, I’ll let you off the hook this time. I don’t even know why you’re shopping here, there’s a thrift store down the street.” She snorts at her own joke and the gaggle of girls behind her, how did Dipper not notice them?, shriek with laughter in agreement.

“Hey, we’ll be done here in a jiffy!” Mabel says, her smile is strained despite her attempt at keeping peace. “Then you can use it. Just give us like… five minutes, okay?”

The girl looks like she wants to object, but her blue eyes skim over Mabel, and she huffs a sigh. “Fine. Just this once.”

Dipper blinks in surprise. He expected more of a fight than that, and judging by the confused, owlish eyes of the blonde’s friends, so did they. Mabel shrugs and shoves a pair of stylishly faded jeans into Bill’s hands and for once, the demon doesn’t object. He only looks at the blonde girl knowingly and walks into the stall.

_What’s your deal?_ Dipper thinks, watching as Mabel engages the girl shyly in small talk. She looks irritated, but ‘willing to indulge silly commoners’, as she says. Her name is Pacifica Northwest and Dipper has to stifle a snort of laughter. Good thing she lives in the Pacific Northwest, she’d have an awkward time anywhere else.

**Her family allegedly discovered Gravity Falls, and owns the richest business in the county,** Bill answers. **She knows who I am, who we are. Her family has enough money to earn _that_ right.**

Dipper sits back in the plush armrest left out for people to wait in, arms crossed. He scrutinizes Pacifica, who doesn’t seem to be too aware of Mabel’s affinity for magic. _Is that why she’s talking to us?_

**Maybe. Or, she has a crush on your sister.** Dipper almost chokes on his own saliva at that and Bill’s cackling echoes in his mind.

_That’s not-_ Dipper begins, but the stall next to Bill’s opens, and out strolls Levi, carrying an expensive looking shirt on one arm. Dipper’s breath catches and a chill races up his spine as Levi gives him a lazy, bored wave, as if he can barely muster the energy to lift his arm, and walks away without saying a word to them. He bumps into the beaded lady from earlier and mumbles an apology, before moving to the register.

**Not what, Pine Tree?** Bill’s voice commands his attention once more.

_Nothing, nevermind. I just saw-_ A hair-raising, curdling screech cuts off Dipper’s thoughts again. Dipper whirls around, watching as the woman Levi bumped into falls to her knees and holds her head, shrieking like she’s in agonizing pain. Dipper leaps to his feet as a store employee rushes over, hovering over the screaming woman and fumbling for his phone to call 911. Levi is nowhere to be seen.

Bill appears at his side, eyes wide and his shirt half-buttoned- _don’t think about that right now it is not the time._ A green light begins to radiate from the woman curled up on the ground and Mabel moves to sprint to her side, but Bill catches her arm and she grinds to a stop. “Wait,” he hisses, and Mabel clenches her teeth but obeys.

“Hey, that’s the lady who always gets in the way of Dad’s loggers. Is she okay?” Pacifica asks from a few feet behind them. Dipper turns his head to give her an answer, does she _look_ okay to you, when the woman omits a blast of green light that levels a few clothing racks and knocks everyone in the store to the ground.

“ ** _YOU!_** ” the woman screeches, except, she’s not a woman anymore. Her brown hair floats behind her and her whole body is covered in vines of ivy and blooming flowers. Her eyes are pinpricks of bright green light, and her skin seems to be made of bark. Dipper scrambles to his feet. Her furious graze is trained right on Pacifica.

Logger business. Tree hugger. _Oh shit._ “Run!” Dipper snaps, and Pacifica happily obliges, running as fast as she can in her heels into the nearest dressing room.

“Field test!” Bill yells in excitement, grabbing Dipper’s hand and laughing eagerly. “Oh, your first real fight, I’m so excited!” In an instant, Bill’s sword rests in Dipper’s hand, a comfortable weight, a burden he’s grown accustomed to. He turns to face the creature, his chest puffed out in an attempt to look as intimidating as possible.

“Stop right there-” Dipper says, but the lady-turned-weird-forest-thing rushes past him, smelling of flowers and soil, and knocks him straight into a rack of skirts. Dipper groans and hauls himself up out of the mess of fabric as Mabel wriggles her way out of a tangle of overcoats.

_What is that thing?_ It went straight for the stall Pacifica took shelter in and started banging on the door, releasing echoey shrieks of anger into the air. “ ** _YOU KILL MY FOREST! MURDERER!_** ” it roars and the wood splinters under its fist. Pacifica’s cries of fear are barely audible over its screaming.

**That’s a spriggan,** Bill answers. He sounds positively delighted. **Forest spirits, they usually guard hidden treasures. Fairy bodyguards.**

_Okay. We’ll talk about how that lady turned into one later,_ Dipper thinks back and Bill hums in return. “Mabel, Bill says it’s a spriggan! I’ll distract it, you get Pacifica out of there, and make sure everyone’s safe!”

Mabel finally wrestles her way out of the clutches of a clingy coat and look at him like he was the one who sprouted into a spriggan. “ _What?!_ Dipper are you _crazy?_ ”

“Just do it! Trust me!” Mabel looks like she wants to object, but too late, Dipper turns away and bangs the flat side of Bill against a metal beam. “Hey, ugly hippie, over here!”

The spriggan stops pounding on the door and turns slowly. Boy, it is _not_ pretty, with a face contorted in hatred and growing mushrooms in odd spots, almost like acne. “Yeah, I’m talking to you! Your trees are _stupid_!”

There’s a moment of complete silence, then the spriggan lets out a screech of rage and lunges straight for him. Dipper barely manages to jump out of the way in time and the spriggan crashes into a shirt rack, shedding dirt all over thirty-dollar shirts. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mabel help Pacifica cautiously out of the stall, then support her as they hobble quickly out of the boutique.

The spriggan sees her too. “ _ **STOP!**_ ” it screams, throwing shirts off its body and clambering to its feet as it takes off after the two girls. Dipper rushes forward, the tip of Bill’s sword dragging against the nice marble floors and leaving a deep groove. This is just a normal drill, no monster, no threat of death. Just Dipper, and Bill, and the dance. _Backhand_ , he has time to think, before he’s swinging Bill with all of his strength, catching the spriggan in the side and embedding the blade deep. It gives a cry of pain and grips the blade in both its hands. Dipper thinks _shit_ before it wrenches Bill out of its side and throws them both across the store. Dipper’s back collides hard with the wall and forces the air violently out of his body. He slides down onto the floor, blinking the stars from his vision, and quickly sits up. He winces, feeling bruises blossoming on his back already. His sight swims as the spriggan hisses at him and turns, lifting its hands. The room rumbles, then a mass of roots burst from the floor and knock Mabel away while coiling around Pacifica.

**Get moving, Pine Tree!** Dipper scrambles to his feet and rushes again as Mabel rolls over and hauls herself to her feet. **Aim for its head or its heart!**

Dipper does just that, Bill resting on his shoulder as he charges. He lifts Bill, then swings left, the tip of the sword just barely grazing the spriggan’s shoulder when it spots them and leaps back, but Dipper pursues. He lunges, stabbing forward, but the spriggan dances out of harm again. The ground rumbles beneath his feet. **Move! Now!**

Dipper heeds the warning and dives out of the way just as another mass of roots burst from the spot he occupied just seconds before. **Eight o’clock!** Bill warns and Dipper ducks as a clawed hand misses the swipe made to his head. He twists around, swinging left, and the blade cleaves straight through the spriggan’s arm. The limb curls and whitens like driftwood on the floor.

**They’re out, now quit stalling** , Bill snarls, and indeed Mabel somehow managed to wrench Pacifica from the clutches of the roots and the two were nowhere to be seen. **Finish this!**

Dipper leaps out of the path of a vine the spriggan shot from its hand and rolls back to his feet, searching for an opening. The stump of the spriggan’s right hand writhes and begins elongating as the spriggan grows back its arm. _There._

Dipper inhales, and lets his instinct carry him forward. He ducks a swipe from the spriggan’s good arm and keeps right, trying to stay in the spriggan’s unguarded side, but the fairy twists too quickly. Parry, left, dodge, stay defensive, wait, wait…

_**Now!** _

The spriggan’s foot catches on a ripped dress and it stumbles, and that’s all Dipper needs. He drives the blade forward and it finds its mark, running the spriggan through and piercing its heart.

The creature blinks its glowing green eyes and looks down at the sword buried in its chest. Dipper wrenches back with all his strength and Bill comes free, soaked in a dark green liquid. The same liquid sprays from the spriggan’s chest, splattering Dipper in the sickly-sweet smelling substance. **Get back! She’s gonna blow!** Bill’s yell rattles in his mind and Dipper turns as the spriggan sinks to its knees, mouth open in a silent scream. He vaults over the register and takes shelter as the edges of the spriggan’s barky skin crack, and rip apart. Bits of bark and plant matter fly over his head and hit the wall, then silence.

A familiar light flashes and Bill’s in front of him, his hands wrenching Dipper’s arms away from his face from where he’d been shielding himself from shrapnel. They stare at each other, immobile, engaging in a silent battle of wills. Bill’s eyes darken and Dipper quickly tries to scramble to his feet but he slips on the slick substance coating him and the floor. Bill catches Dipper’s wrists and pins his arms to the side of the counter. They’re both painted in sticky green blood and Dipper has dirt in his hair and his chest is heaving with exertion and adrenaline. Bill looks ready to _devour_ him.

“Good job, Pine Tree,” he says lowly, and when did their faces get so close-

“ _Dipper?!_ ”

Mabel’s voice snaps him to the present and he wrenches his hands out of Bill’s grip and shoves him away. “Too close,” Dipper scowls, looking away from Bill’s ecstatic, and slightly psychotic, grin.

“Well, don’t leave them waiting,” Bill purrs back, glancing over the top of the counter where Mabel is most likely wringing her sweater in worry. Dipper clenches his jaw and takes a moment to breathe deeply and restrain himself from punching Bill in the throat or something. He stands and sprints over to Mabel, enveloping her in his arms, while Bill’s stare burns into his bruised back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Obsessions by Marina & the Diamonds


	7. Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m starting to cave_
> 
> _I’m losing my flame_
> 
> _I wanted your truth_
> 
> _but I wanted the pain_
> 
> _to disappear_
> 
> _Dream maker, life taker_
> 
> __  
> **Open up my mind**  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, im alive!! i beat that nasty ol' writer's block. woo hoo!  
> anyway, enjoy this chapter. lots of plot things happening oh boy.

“Ah, that spriggan sure did hit the spot!”

Dipper clenches his teeth and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms- the only part of his hands not covered in green goop- and mentally talks himself out of turning and socking Bill in the jaw, which is assuredly a very bad idea. Usually he doesn’t experience violent tendencies like this, just the urge to distance himself from everyone and write his problems away. He can’t help it, something about Bill’s laid-back and smug attitude just rubs him the wrong way. Add that to his aching muscles and developing headache and everyone has to deal with an extremely grumpy Dipper.

Dipper sits on the curb outside the remains of the unfortunate boutique, massaging his pounding skull with his hands. Mabel left not long after guiding him back outside and caring for the minor injuries he collected in his fight, off to heal any others that may have needed it. Dipper only wishes he could be more useful, help people like she does. He turns his head and watches through the haze of a migraine as she holds a woman’s toy poodle, her hands taking on a familiar rosy-pink glow. The dog, which had been lying still and growling, suddenly yaps and wags its tail and bestows Mabel’s face with slobbery kisses, and the smile on his twin makes is infectious.

He hears the dignified clicking of dress shoes against concrete, his smile drops and his gut twists with irritation as Bill takes a seat beside him, too close for comfort. Dipper’s moodiness only increases when his headache alleviates, just by the demon’s proximity.

“Better?” Bill chimes, leaning close so that their shoulders brush together. The contact sends a thrill through Dipper, both of frustration and something he’d really rather not spend too much time pondering.

“Are wielders _always_ this dependent on you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those distance headaches are real doozies, aren’t they?”

Dipper removes his hands to send Bill a nasty look, but the demon is unremarkably unphased by his wielder’s frustration. “Yeah, they are. That rule is stupid.”

“Hey, you have to keep an eye on me _somehow!_ The migraine is just punishment for letting me out of your sight.”

“When I picked up that sword, I didn’t think I would spend the rest of my life _babysitting._ ”

Dipper hit a nerve, judging by the dangerous way Bill narrows his eyes to slits and bares his teeth. Dipper feels a mixture of dread and satisfaction and braces himself for whatever violence the demon has in store, but a primly manicured hand lands on Bill’s elegantly dressed shoulder and stalls any harm that might have befallen Dipper.

“Um,” she says, slowly removing her hand as Bill turns and fixes his glare upon her. Dipper feels a twinge of sympathy as she swallows. “Are you…” she trails off and looks at the bystanders around them, as if someone would listen in, “...are you the demon?”

Bill’s murderous look disappears in an instant, like clouds parting on a stormy day, and a huge grin splits his face. “Why yes, my lady!” he jumps to his feet and takes Pacifica’s hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Dipper scowls and looks away, crossing his arms. That action sure pissed him off. Why did Bill have to be such a suck up when he found it convenient? Some darker part of him whispers _that can’t be the only reason_ , but Dipper quickly shoves those thoughts to the back of his head and locks them away.

He hears an undignified _oof_ as Mabel sits on his unoccupied side, leaning her weight against him. “I healed everyone, I think it’ll be okay now,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair, which began to frizz from the abundance of magic she used.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Dipper says, unable to hide his concern. “I don’t want you to strain yourself. Magic really takes a toll on you, and if you have an attack-”

Mabel waves him off, but she’s breathing heavily. “I’ll be fine, Dipdop. Just like going for a jog, I gotta work out sometimes. Get my magic muscles.”

A light _ahem_ steals their attention, and the twins slowly look up at Pacifica. “You healed everyone here, right?” the blonde asks, and Mabel nods, fixing her with a bubbly smile.

“Yup! Everyone’ll be a-okay.”

Pacifica bites her lip, and Dipper looks down and sees her painted nails clenched tightly around her smartphone. “Daddy’s bringing them around now,” she says.

Dipper narrows his eyes as his instincts scream at him, _something isn’t right._ “Bringing who around?” he asks.

“The Society of the Blind Eye,” it’s Bill who answers him, the grin still present on the demon’s face. “They’re your guys’ janitors, essentially. What else were you going to say, Miss Northwest?”

“...Daddy wants to meet you two, as well,” she grows oddly quiet for someone with such a flashy personality, which does nothing to calm Dipper’s panicking instincts. Bill flashes him a knowing look and Dipper furrows his brow, taking deep breaths to calm himself. “The limo should be here… now.”

On her cue, a long black limousine rolls around the corner and stops in front of them. A well-dressed chauffeur climbs out of the driver’s seat and opens the door for Pacifica, who climbs in without a moment of hesitation. Mabel glances at the dazed shoppers behind her, who she all helped, and bites her lip.

“Are you coming or not?” Pacifica snaps, her voice muffled by the interior of the limousine. Mabel jumps and quickly scrambles in after her, leaving a suspicious Dipper and a still grinning Bill on the sidewalk.

“What’s going on here?” Dipper mutters. He’s not expecting an answer from the demon, at least not an honest one, so he isn’t surprised when Bill places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“Don’t worry, Pine Tree,” he tilts his head, his smile softening just slightly, the change so imperceivable that Dipper wonders if he imagined it. “I’ll explain everything soon. We should hurry.”

Bill ducks and makes to climb into the limousine, but Pacifica screeches at him to _sit on the covered parts, you’re filthy!_ Dipper sighs, gut twisting in unease and apprehension, but he follows anyway. He’s never ridden in a limo before, no time like the present.

* * *

 

The drive is awkward, to put it nicely, with Mabel sitting in anxious silence, Bill fiddling with every button he can get his hands on- the limo has a built in margarita machine, Dipper can only shudder when he thinks of the atrocities Bill could commit when intoxicated- and Pacifica snapping at Bill to stop messing with her stuff, only to shrink back when the demon fixes her with his gleaming blue eye. Mabel articulately deemed that eye Bill’s _scary-eye_ , due to the fact it shines oddly whenever he’s doing something particularly demonic.

The gold eye? That one remains a mystery.

They arrive at Pacifica’s estate in mere moments, violating more than a few traffic laws that could be paid off easily by Pacifica’s family, no doubt. Mabel presses her face up against the window, gazing at the well-maintained lawn and neatly groomed hedges as the gates part and let them through.

“Dipper! She has a _peacock!_ ” Mabel hisses, and Dipper laughs at her face of wild excitement. “I’m gonna pet it.”

“I don’t think you should, it probably won’t like that.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Dipper shakes his head and decides to let her learn her lesson the hard way as the limousine rolls to a stop, tires crunching the gravel road. The door opens a moment later, the chauffeur standing politely to the side as the occupants of the car file out one-by-one.

Dipper gapes at the enormous home towering above him, hunched like a sleeping giant. It almost dwarfs his old high school. A few impeccably dressed butlers pass by him, and Dipper feels remarkably out of place in his soiled commoner clothes. Pacifica strides past him, oozing the confidence someone could only possess if they lived in such in a intimidating estate. Mabel bounds after her, almost vibrating in her excitement.

Dipper, however, remains rooted to the spot, a cold sweat sliding down his back as he gazes up at the lavish house, which is probably worth more than his entire family’s incomes combined. He hugs himself tightly and shivers, fighting down the inevitable wave of anxiety that threatens to drown him.

_I don’t belong here_ , he thinks to himself, his fingers rubbing the bill of his hat. The butlers pull open the huge doors and Mabel and Pacifica disappear into the gaping maw of the manor, leaving Dipper behind. _I really do not want to go in there_.

“You’re too loud, kid.”

Dipper jumps, fixing a deer-in-headlights stare upon the demon. Bill blinks at him, slowly, and rests his hand on his wielder’s shoulder. The weight is familiar and pulls him from the downward spiral to which he almost lost himself. Bill stands beside him in silence, not a single teasing statement or cocky smirk to be seen or heard, offering only an anchor. Dipper latches onto his support without a moment’s hesitation, and the haze that settled in his mind finally passes. Dipper takes a deep breath, finally letting go of his grip on his arms. Bill doesn’t say a word, only watches him as he collects himself.

_How embarrassing._

**Don’t be embarrassed.**

Dipper flushes, frowning as he mutes his thoughts once more. He needs to work on getting those under control, they’ve caused him too much trouble in the past. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

“What? Just helping you out.”

Dipper squints at him. There’s no way he helped Dipper avoid an impending anxiety attack with no hidden motivations or cruel teasing. Bill sniffs and drops his hand from Dipper’s shoulder. The place where he touched tingles. “Believe it or not, I’m not a total jerk,” Bill grumbles, wearing a look that Dipper can’t read. “...Are you gonna be okay in there?”

The concern catches Dipper off guard and he nods furiously. Bill sighs, “Just think of it like one of your books, or something. You’ll be fine, just let me and Mabel do the talking.”

“I can handle it,” Dipper snaps, and Bill finally smiles, eyes narrowed coyly. He says nothing in return, only wraps his long, slender fingers around Dipper’s wrist and guides him through the huge wooden doors of the mansion.

Dipper, in a moment of complete lapse of judgement, actually decides to follow Bill’s advice. He gazes around the well-furnished establishment, drinking in the sight of every individual hand-stitched embroidery and rare taxidermy. The floors are so clean Dipper can see his reflection in them, where they aren’t hidden by a plush Egyptian carpet, fashionably designed and worth more than his college tuition. Dipper files everything he sees, hears- opera music, the bustle of servants- and smells- French pastries, finely aged wines- away for future use.

He busies himself with engraining the lavish interior of the house in his memory, allowing Bill to lead him through the house. It’s a feat they don’t get lost, Dipper counting each room they pass and losing his place at around thirty-something, until they finally stop outside an unimpressive white door, finely carved but paling in comparison to the rest of the house. Bill knocks twice, and a gruff voice allows them to enter. Dipper brings himself back to the present as Bill tugs him into what appears to be a study. A prim-looking man sits behind a well-organized desk, wearing a dignified business suit and sitting with excellent posture. Two plush-looking couches rest in front of a fire that crackles merrily. Mabel perks up as Dipper stumbles in, guided by Bill.

“Took you long enough,” Pacifica huffs, and the man behind the desk, who Dipper assumes is her father, fixes her with a sharp look.

“Now, now, Pacifica, these are our guests, and you must treat them nicely-” he cuts off as he takes in Bill and Dipper’s disheveled appearances. His lip curls, but he quickly wipes away his disgust. Bill tilts his head and grins, but Dipper doesn’t buy his facade. He narrows his eyes and prepares himself for the coming storm.

“Please, have a seat,” the man says, and Bill moves to comply, but Dipper grips his wrist and holds him back.

“Thank you, sir, but we wouldn’t want to get your seats dirty,” Dipper says politely, etching the fakest smile he can muster on his face. In reality, he didn’t want to get comfortable around this guy. He remained determinedly on his guard, and after sending Bill a warning look and a thought, the demon did the same.

“Of course, it’s no problem,” the man says, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair. “As I am sure you know, my name is Preston Northwest, the current head of the Northwest business. You two must be the Pines twins, correct?”

“Yup!” Mabel chirps, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. “You have a cool house. I like your peacocks.”

Mr. Northwest blinks at her, as if he’s having trouble comprehending her statement. “Er… Thank you. You Pines are certainly known for your flattery!”

Pacifica snorts and he shoots her a glare. He opens a drawer in his desk and fishes something out from deep within. He finds what he was searching for, a single golden bell, and rests it on the surface of the desk. Dipper furrows his brow and stares at the bell, as if it would sprout legs and put them all under a spell or something, but it sits innocently on the desk. He glances at Pacifica and blanches as the color drains from her face and she leans back in the couch, cowed just by the presence of the innocuous-looking bell.

_What’s that about?_

**No idea.**

“Ah, forgive my daughter. She can be a bit brash, but she knows her place,” Mr. Northwest sighs, folding his hands neatly on the desk. Something about his statement seems sinister and Dipper feels a rush of unease. “I heard you saved her life today, correct? I am in your debt. Name your price, of course, and it shall be paid duly-”

“Oh, no!” Mabel interrupts, shaking her head. “We don’t need anything. We were just doing what was right.”

**Oh, that’s cute.** Dipper scowls and elbows Bill in the side.

“...Well, if you say so,” Mr. Northwest says slowly. “I have also taken the liberty of calling in the Society of the Blind Eye for you, to clean up any evidence that may have been left behind.”

“What’s the Society of the Blind Eye?” Dipper asks.

“...You don’t know?”

“Clearly not.”

He’s satisfied by the brief flicker of offense that showed through his mask of formalities. “I’m surprised, Stanford must not be quite the teacher he makes himself out to be. The Society of the Blind Eye is a secret organization tasked with wiping the memories of any supernatural occurrences from the minds of the citizens of Gravity Falls; especially events concerning you three.”

“Us? Wait, they’ve been wiping people’s _minds?_ How do we know they haven’t wiped _our_ minds! That’s- that’s a breach of rights!”

“Mr. Pines, please calm yourself,” Mr. Northwest sighs, rubbing his forehead. “The Society maintains peace in this town. Can you imagine the chaos that would break out if people had suddenly become aware of every supernatural and life-threatening happening?”

Dipper opens his mouth to protest more, but Bill cuts him off. “Of course, he completely understands. Isn’t there another reason you brought us here, not just to talk about things I- excuse me, _we_ already know?”

Mr. Northwest’s eyes widen as Bill speaks to him, his posture straightening once more. He seems visibly uncomfortable under the demon’s scrutiny, and Dipper doesn’t blame him. Bill has that effect, able to unsettle anyone he comes across. His blue eye blazes in the glow of the fireplace. He’s cranking the intimidation up high, even going so far as to curl his lips in a murderous smirk. Dipper’s grateful he isn’t on the receiving end of that look.

“Mr. Cipher, it certainly h-has been a while,” Mr. Northwest stammers. “Thirty years, correct? Not since the unfortunate accident with Stan-”

Bill growls, the sound feral and unlike anything Dipper has been subjected to so far. It raises the hairs on his body and he shivers, but he keeps that tidbit of information filed away for later interrogation. “Let’s not get caught up in the past, eh? What did you bring us here for, Preston?”

Mr. Northwest clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “Yes, of course. I brought you three here to propose a… business deal, of sorts. The Northwest family has, unfortunately, made a handful of enemies on the road to success, which is unavoidable in this way of living. I am offering you, Bill Cipher, and the Pines twins, the opportunity to come to the service of the Northwest family, and exclusively protect us from our enemies, and also serve us when we may require it. That includes dealing with any others who-”

“No.”

Bill and Dipper turn in unison, staring at Mabel in surprise. She seems sheepish for a moment, as if surprised by her own outburst, but continues. “I’m sorry, Mr. Northwest, but we wanna help everyone in Gravity Falls, not just your family. If you ever need help, you can ask us, but we shouldn’t favor you, or let you pay us.”

Dipper smiles in admiration. Of course she wouldn’t have it, Mabel was far too selfless, too kind. He was going to say the same thing, but she got to it before he could.

“I… I see,” Mr. Northwest says, “well, allow me to-”

“Are you _crazy?_ ”

Pacifica’s screech of disbelief cuts her father off. She leaps to her feet, hands clenched at her sides and glaring at Mabel with fury. “Daddy is offering you the deal of a _lifetime!_ He can get you out of your rathole of a shack, get your fashion line noticed-”

_How does she know about that?_

**Shh.**

“-but you have this stupid hero-complex after you stopped _one_ monster! Don’t act so superior!”

A soft, chiming bell interrupts her and Pacifica flinches, turning towards her father. “Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he says calmly. “Take your seat. I will not tolerate your attitude tonight.”

“But daddy-”

Mr. Northwest leaps to his feet, his chair scraping against the wood floor, and Pacifica shrinks back in alarm. “To your room, Pacifica!” he snaps, a lock of his well-groomed hair falling out of place. “I’ll be speaking to you later! I am _very_ unhappy.”

Pacifica bites her lip and hesitates, prompting another ring of the small, inconspicuous bell. She turns on her heel, fighting back tears, and strides out of the room with her head low. The door slams shut behind her.

Dipper shifts in unease, gut wrenching at the implications of what he just witnessed. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. “Please forgive Pacifica, she forgets her place sometimes,” Mr. Northwest sighs, smoothing his hair back into place, “now, as for our arrangement-” Something ugly rears its head inside Dipper, a startling and overwhelming fury that leaves him feeling chilled and trembling.

_Don’t talk about your daughter like that._

“Why don’t I try and convince you? You may be interested in the sum I have prepared for you, as thanks for saving my daughter.”

“I said we didn’t need it.” He barely hears Mabel’s quiet voice through the roar of blood rushing through his head. Dipper can hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He’s never been this pissed off in his life. He registers nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist, but the action doesn’t ground him this time. Bill’s vibrant blue eye flashes through his mind until he’s overwhelmed by blue flames, burning him-

_“Dipper!”_

“Pine Tree, what are-”

He’s stopped mid-step by Bill. He’s going to make that man _pay_ , for his selfishness, his entitlement, the way he treats his daughter like she’s some kind of novelty, it _disgusts_ him. He looks at Bill expectantly, his hand itching for familiar metal. Dipper spots the grin on the demon’s face, but he only shakes his head. Fine, if Bill didn’t change, he would personally choke the life out of the bastard.

“Please, I’m sure we can come to an agreement-”

_“SHUT UP!”_

A roar echoes in the small study and a blast of heat knocks Dipper to the floor, and out of his rage. He lies, dazed, for a good few moments, his vision swimming. Heat scalds his skin and he shakes his head rapidly. He scrambles to his feet, turning towards the fireplace as the once-merry flames turn violent and convulse in their hearth. The flames shift and leap out of the fireplace, landing on the rug but not singing it. The pyre grows and shudders, and before Dipper’s eyes the flames take shape. It morphs into a sort of elephant-like creature, with huge tusks protruding from its open mouth, but a short, trunkless face and a long, thick tail. Dipper has little time to comprehend what this creature is, and even less to defend himself. It rears its head and paws at the rug, flaming eyes locked onto Dipper. It bellows and charges, racing towards him with a burst of unbearable heat, and all Dipper can do is shield his head and wait for agony.

He feels a gust of wind, and then nothing.

He opens his eyes, his skin feeling remarkably unburned. The fireplace has gone out. A chill races up Dipper’s spine. He turns slowly, finding Mabel’s terrified gaze on him, along with Bill’s curious one. He doesn’t even want to think of the fourth person in the room. He shudders from the lingering effects of his rage.

“We’re leaving. Let’s go,” he orders, eager to leave before he loses control again. Bill follows him out the door, on his heels like an excited dog. Mabel mutters something behind him, then quickly catches up.

“You’re an idiot, Pine Tree.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

They return to the Mystery Shack some time after sundown, having agreed to stop for a round of comfort-food beforehand. Dipper and Mabel slink through the door, impossibly drained and aching all over.

“What the hell happened to you three?” Stan asks, eyebrows raised. Dipper just shakes his head and leads the other two upstairs, barely finding the strength to take a two-minute shower before he collapses into bed, his eyes throbbing in his skull.

The bed sinks with a weight that’s becoming _too_ familiar and Dipper groans. Bill’s hand settles between his shoulder blades and the contact washes away his headache. “You lost control,” Bill whispers, and the bed creaks as the demon bends closer, until Dipper can feel his cool breath against the back of his neck. “It was _beautiful_. We’ll have to work on that uncultivated rage within you.”

Dipper shivers at the demon’s foreboding words, but can’t keep away the welcoming clutch of unconsciousness. He falls into a fitful slumber, the image of Bill’s smile and the color blue etched into his mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Smoke and Mirrors by Imagine Dragons


	8. Never Taste of the Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's not like you killed someone_   
>  _It's not like you drove a hateful spear into his side_   
>  _Praise the one who left you_   
>  _Broken down and paralyzed_   
>  _He did it all for you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at all of this plot and dialogue boy howdy  
> i really love writing bill hes such a little shit lmao

That eventful night, Dipper dreams.

White surrounds him on all sides, stretching in a milky infinity that makes Dipper’s eyes cross when he stares into the distance too long. The temperature rests at a simple medium; not too hot, not too cold, not anything. He’s never had a dream like this before, but Gravity Falls has brought its own brand of strange, unusual things, so Dipper took the change in stride. He stands in the middle of his blank dream, feeling a pleasant weightlessness. He looks down, his body moving as if in slow-motion, and observes that he’s still dressed in his pajamas.

He thinks to himself how strangely lucid he feels, being able to identify the white expanse as a dream so quickly. It’s as if he isn’t asleep at all. He thinks back, trying to remember any time he ever experienced a lucid dream, but his memory comes up short. It’s the oddest dream he’s ever had, but at least it isn’t another horrible, prophetic nightmare where he’s swallowed alive by a sea serpent. That was an experience he’d rather not relive.

Dipper’s vision flickers with a sudden onslaught of vertigo, almost as if he stood up too fast. He rubs at his eyes with clumsy fingers and as he lowers his hands Bill appears in front of him. His posture is sure and confident, his shoulders back and his chin high and proud. It’s no different from his usual stance, but something about Bill oozes familiarity in this surrounding. A faint, itching thought in his mind suggests that Bill seems like he _belongs_ here, whatever that might mean. Dipper’s dream keeps getting weirder and weirder with each passing minute.

“Having a good rest, Pine Tree?” Bill chirps. He snaps his gloved fingers elegantly and a golden cane materializes out of thin air. He snatches it and leans his weight against it. “Welcome to your subconscious, by the way. Usually your hindbrain doesn’t look like Purgatory, but I’m borrowing a lot of your imaginative projectivity to appear before you. I hope you don’t mind.”

His thought-process struggles to keep up with whatever nonsense Bill is spewing this time. It takes him a moment to comprehend, but when he does Dipper decides he most certainly _does_ mind if the demon is messing around in his head. Bill’s fingers drum against the curve of his cane, which appears to be glowing against the solid white background. He furrows his brow, wishing that this interaction could have happened when he was more coherent, and less unconscious. “You’re fucking around with my su-subconscious?” He trips over his words, apparently still half-asleep.

“What a crude way to put it, but yes! I’m impressed, I thought it would have taken you longer to reach that conclusion. Did you also know that the sky is blue, Pine Tree?”

Dipper scowls, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. Apparently nowhere is safe from Bill’s smart-ass remarks, not even his dream-world. His mind finally kick-starts into action as he fumes at Bill’s need to be a complete asshole no matter the setting.

“What’re you doing here?” Dipper asks, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, unable to keep up with his words. His whole body feels fuzzy and uncooperative. Experimentally, he tries to twitch a finger. It responds about a second later. Weird.

“I came to talk. With Shooting Star constantly hovering about, and Stanford poking his misshapen nose into every inch of my business, it’s hard to have a private conversation nowadays.”

The suspicious, paranoid part of Dipper’s brain rears its ugly head, instincts whispering _danger_. He’s always had an inkling that Bill constantly gave half-truths and harnessed ulterior motives. He just never had proof.

“Well, sorry to say, but I’m really not in the mood for it right now. This is _my_ mind, and I won’t stand for you being a total jerk here, of all places.” He pauses, debating the pros in the cons of asking Bill for help, but the demon seems to be the expert here, judging by his coherency and nonchalance. “...But, just curious, why is my body lagging.”

Bill’s lips curve in a crooked smile. “Well, Pine Tree, it cost me a large amount of energy to enter your dream. If I tried this on a normal day, you would most likely enter a coma and have strange premonitions of disasters until your fragile mortal body withered away with the all-consuming passage of time, but luckily the spriggan we killed today had a more powerful soul than usual.”

Dipper narrows his eyes, ignoring Bill’s slightly disturbing descriptions for the time being. “What do you mean ‘more powerful than usual’?”

Bill heaves a dramatic sigh and shakes his head, as if Dipper were some clueless toddler. “Do you never pay attention to anything?”

“I only ignore _you_.”

“Aw, I’m flattered. The spriggan’s soul was indeed closer to a monster’s, but there was a fraction of it that was still human. Human souls are extremely powerful, and rich, almost like one of your weird energy drinks. Normally, I wouldn’t have the ability to do this,” he waves his hand to gesture to their milky white surroundings, “even after a good meal, but one nibble of human essence allows me to appear in your dreams without damaging your mind. As for why you’re flopping around like a half-eaten baby seal, you’re just feeling the residual effects of the energy I borrowed from your subconscious. It’s not permanent.”

“Maybe, but _borrowed_ implies you plan to return it.”

Bill’s smile only widens, and even appears a tad coy. Dipper’s chest twists in a confusing, and rather concerning, manner. “I do plan to return it. How, though, is a surprise.”

“Do you always make your statements as vague as possible?”

“No, I only confuse _you_.”

Dipper crosses his arms as Bill throws his own words back at him, satisfied when his muscles, dream muscles?, respond as expected. “Just tell me what you want so you can leave and I can sleep without an asshole demon breathing down my neck.”

Bill’s smile fades for an instant before he hides the slip with a cackle. “You sure are grumpy when you’re tired.” Dipper soaks in the small victory of cracking through the demon’s cheerful exterior, if just for a moment.

“I’ve been told.”

“Anyway, I’m here to discuss the events of what occurred today.”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Isn’t this something that Mabel should hear as well? He voices that concern aloud and Bill rewards him with a bark of laughter.

“Naturally! But this needs to be discussed ASAP, and because of our connection, you’re the only one who’s Mindscape I can enter. Shooting Star remains unfortunately closed to me, which is a shame. Her Mindscape is probably brimming with energy.”

Dipper takes another cursory glance at his surroundings, but there’s still not much to see, besides Bill. “So this is called Mindscape,” he breathes, a little giddy at discovering something new. “Does everyone have one? Are they all unique? Do they usually look-?”

“Yes, yes, and no, but we aren’t talking about that now,” Bill dismisses the topic with another flippant wave of his hand. He leans back and takes a seat on thin-air, his body suspended by nothing but the endless white background. “Let’s go in chronological order, shall we? That’s always easy for you feeble-minded, time-fearing humans to grasp.”

“Yeah, yeah, demons are so vastly superior to us, blah blah blah, get on with it.”

“Ohoho! You’ve got quite the mouth on you today. I’d watch that tongue of yours, it’d be a shame if you lost it.” Bill’s blue eye flickers dangerously and Dipper wisely shuts his trap, deciding to pick his battles for the time being. Antagonizing Bill while they’re in Dipper’s mind, where the demon can possibly break important things, seems like a bad idea.

“First things first; that Levi character we’ve seen skulking around lately. You’ve made the connection, right?”

“That dream I had, right? He showed up a few days after I had it, and I had this weird vision-thing when I met him, too…”

“Oh, good, you aren’t as stupid as you act.”

“Hey, I-”

“And today,” Bill interrupts his protest, “that whole schpiel with the fireplace coming to life and attacking you, that was interesting, huh? Care to explain to me what exactly happened, because you stormed off like a moody teenager before I could inspect the soot in the hearth.”

Dipper frowns and shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’d rather not recall what happened at Northwest Mansion, at least not without a good day or two of rest in between. The aftershocks of that experience had been unpleasant, to say the least. He can’t remember ever feeling that angry over anything in his life, let alone over some girl who he barely knew. He isn’t the kind of person to explode like that, and in such a way that was almost… violent. Once he came-to, when the red faded from his vision, he felt exhausted and sick with himself.

He looks down at his bare feet. “I dunno. I got really angry at Mr. Northwest, but then that weird creature popped out of the fireplace and rushed me.”

“How angry did you get?”

Dipper purses his lips and moves his gaze back up, meeting Bill’s surprisingly open expression. He recalls before the whole fiasco at the mansion, when he almost had a break-down on Pacifica’s driveway, and Bill helped him through it in a spur of charitability. Maybe it would do to let it off his chest, before he lost his temper like that again and hurt someone he cared about.

“I wanted to strangle him,” he confesses, “and I was going to do it. I could-” he stops, his throat tightening and his mouth drying like an arid desert. He licks his lips and continues, tightening his grip on his arms to hide his shaking hands. “...I could picture killing him with my bare hands before that… thing came out.”

No response from the demon across from him. Bill leans an elbow on one knee and places his chin in his hand, his finger tapping a beat on the corner of his mouth. He looks deep in thought, eyes slightly narrowed and trained intently on Dipper, who suddenly feels very vulnerable clad only in a loose tee and sweats. He takes the moment of quiet to catch his breath and calm himself down, telling himself _it won’t happen again_ , but his own words feel empty.

Bill leans back with a satisfied look, nodding to himself twice. Dipper blinks at him, trying to deduce whatever conclusion the demon just reached, when Bill starts chuckling to himself.

Dipper waits, but his laughter doesn’t stop. In fact, it escalates, until the demon is clutching at his sides and wiping away tears of mirth. “What’s so funny?” Dipper dares to ask.

“Pine Tree, we are in way over our heads this time!”

“What the hell are you on about now?”

“This is going to be oodles of fun, I can feel it!”

“Will you just get to the damn point already?!”

Bill’s laughter gradually subsides until he’s hiccuping with glee, a wide, unhinged smile splitting his face. Both his eyes are shining with barely restrained heat and Dipper feels an apprehension about just what could have gotten Bill so excited. He assumes it isn’t anything good.

“Oh, Pine Tree. We’re dealing with not one, but _two_ ancient monsters here. They come in a boxed set, isn't that lovely?”

Dipper’s apprehension evolves into sinking dread. Bill’s eyes are all but sparking now. “Their names are Leviathan and Behemoth, and they’re bringing the end of the world.”

Dipper’s assumption is correct, that news is _horrible_.

“Like… big sea snake and giant beast-monster Behemoth and Leviathan?”

“The very same.”

Dipper deflates, a tad shell-shocked, his mind reeling with new, terrifying information. He thinks back to Levi, tall and slender and an image of needle-like teeth flash in his mind. It seems so obvious now.

“Of course, Leviathan seems to be of a calmer temperament, since he was able to slip amongst normal society so easily, but _how_ he’s come about a mortal vessel is the real question, since he’s supposed to be about 30 miles long according to…”

Dipper tunes out Bill’s rambling, a talent he acquired after being forced to live with the demon for a month. He runs a sweaty palm through his sleep-mussed hair, exhaling a shaky breath. So the thing in the fireplace was Behemoth, a huge beast that appeared to be some bastardized splice of an elephant, rhinoceros, bull, and several other enormous animals that Dipper couldn’t be bothered to name off the top of his head.

“...Though I understand why they would choose _here_ to battle, out of sight out of mind, and thrumming with magical energies. Why, if they really want to bring about the apocalypse now they picked an odd time-”

“Woah, woah, back up,” Dipper interrupts, tuning back just in time to hear the word _apocalypse_. “Are they really going to end the world? Can we, I don’t know, _not_ let them do that?”

Bill sniffs, disgruntled by being cut off. “Yes, Pine Tree, that is their end goal. They are natural sworn enemies, and their battle to the death will end the world as you know it. Floods, tsunamis, earthquakes, tornadoes, you name it. They’ll kick up every natural disaster under the sun and the force of their fight will split this puny planet like an egg.”

Dipper runs both hands through his hair this time, gripping at the strands in stress. “That is not good! That is very, very not good!” he turns on his heel and paces along the white floor, his footsteps making no noise. “Can we stop them? Is there any way to stop them at all, or is the best we can do is to just lie here and take it?”

Bill’s answer is a half-hearted shrug. “You can probably stop them, it’s no accident they’re here. It _is_ your job to protect humanity after all.”

“Yeah, well I want a raise.”

“Talk to the universe about that one, kiddo.”

Dipper covers his face with his hands and groans loudly into his palms. First this magic, supernatural destiny bullshit is dumped on him, but now he has to deal with stopping the fucking apocalypse on top of taking care of Bill’s whiny ass and keeping the citizens of Gravity Falls from being gored by a unicorn or something. He feels a deep rush of gratitude for Mabel and Stan, knowing he would’ve lost it a while ago if it wasn’t for their support.

“...You _can_ kill them, y’know. They aren’t immortal, at least not to my blade .”

Dipper looks up from his hands, “Oh, good, now all I have to do is figure out how to murder two biblical monstrosities-”

“But…”

_“But?!”_

“Killing them is a risky move. Like that one thing, that game,” Bill furrows his brow and snaps his fingers rapidly, trying to remember a game. Dipper clenches his jaw. “That game with the wooden rectangles, and you stack them and pull them out one by one-”

“... _Jenga?_ ”

Bill snaps again and points at a befuddled Dipper. “That’s the one!” The demon leaps to his feet, making no noise as he lands. He twirls his cane and a neatly stacked Jenga tower appears before them, hovering in the space between them and rotating just slightly.

“Imagine the world is the tower, and possible solutions to this problem are the blocks,” Bill chirps, pressing the bottom his cane against one of the rectangular blocks in the center of the tower. “Press the wrong one and the whole thing comes crashing down on you!” He applies the barest amount of pressure and the tower leans to the side and collapses. The wreckage promptly explodes, miniature mushroom-cloud and all.

Dipper is awed and appalled, but overall he's dumbstruck by Bill’s strange methods of explaining things with completely random references. “I can’t believe you just compared the entire planet to a fucking children’s game.” He has an epiphany, then, wondering why he’s surprised by Bill’s bullshit.

“Hey, it worked! Don’t _wreck_ my fun, Pine Tree!” Bill guffaws at his own joke and slaps his knee. “Man, those wanton destruction puns, they never get old.”

“Can you at least _try_ and take this seriously?!” Dipper snaps. “And… how did you do that tower thing? Can I do that?”

“This is me taking it seriously, and yes, Pine Tree, you can. Please try and focus for once in your tiny, insignificant life.”

Dipper gnashes his teeth and lunges frantically for Bill, fed up with his condescending attitude. He reaches for the lapels of his vest. His vision blurs again as his fingers brush the soft material, then Bill is gone.

He breathes heavily, standing stock-still in the blank landscape, his breaths short and angry. He inhales through his nose, fighting to calm down, to regain control of his emotions.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

“That’s a good question, Pine Tree!”

So Bill _hadn’t_ fucked off, like Dipper wishes he had. The demon’s voice came from not far behind him, and he feels a gloved hand press against his back, between his shoulder blades. “Let me see your face, Pine Tree.” Dipper remains rooted to the spot, stubbornly refusing to turn around. “C’mon, don’t be a stick in the mud.”

Bill’s other hand roughly grabs Dipper’s shoulder and spins him around until he’s forced to stare down into Bill’s grinning visage. The demon moves both hands to his shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise, and leans close, his mismatched eyes never leaving his wielder’s. Dipper tenses at the small proximity, warring with himself over the urge to pull away and never look back, or lean closer, close the distance and _take_ -

“Yep, Moth definitely has a strong effect on you,” Bill chirps, then he releases Dipper without warning. “Your mind is far too open still, you really need to put a reign on your anger-”

“...What?” Dipper slurs eloquently, still reeling from what he almost did, or didn’t do.

“Seriously? You’re hopeless. Behemoth’s presence can unleash an untapped well of violent emotions in anyone within a five-mile radius,” Bill taps his finger against the center of Dipper’s chest. “Normally the only side effects are moodiness and loss of energy, but you bottle your tantrums up so frequently that when they’re unleashed at once, they overwhelm you. Right now they’re superficial and lack direction, but if these bouts of anger continue, you’ll target anyone; acquaintances, friends, lovers…” Bill trails off, a meaningful look in his eye. “Family.”

Dipper swallows, drawn back to reality by Bill’s rather insulting explanation, but Dipper knows it’s true. The anger rose again, like a tidal wave, and he almost got caught up in the wake for a second time. At least the anger was directed at Bill this time, who Dipper knew could handle him if he got carried away.

The thought of feeling any sort of anger like that towards Stan, or Wendy, or _Mabel_ , makes him sick to his stomach. “How do I control it, then?”

Bill smiles. “Practice. Express your emotions more often. Find an outlet.”

“Like training?”

“Physical activities usually help, yes.”

Dipper pauses, searching Bill’s expression, but the demon became unreadable, aside from his small smile. “...Okay. If you say so.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally decided to listen to my advice for once in your life, Pine Tree.”

“Shut up, you oversized toothpick.”

“Ooooh, saucy! But, alas, our bonding time must be cut short, as you are swiftly leaving REM. It was fun, Pine Tree, we should do this sort of thing more often. Blow off some animosity, y’know? Won’t do for you to be constantly pissed at me if we’re supposed to be working together.”

Dipper scowled, crossing his arms and waiting for the sweet release of consciousness. “Stop purposefully antagonizing me at every hour and I’ll stop being constantly pissed at you.”

“I make no promises, Pine Tree!” Bill says quickly, and before Dipper can get another word in he snaps his fingers and Dipper is staring at the cobweb-ridden ceiling of the Mystery Shack.

He frowns to himself, feeling oddly groggy despite what seemed to be a full night’s rest. His muscles ache and his head throbs. Slowly, he rolls over onto his side, and finds Bill perched at the edge of his bed, a bright grin on his face.

“...I really hate you sometimes.”

“Good morning to you too, Pine Tree!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from Judith by A Perfect Circle


	9. The Dark Begins to Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Show me where forever dies_
> 
> _Take the fall and run to Heaven_
> 
> _All is lost again_
> 
> _But I'm not giving in_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, it's here! sorry for the lateness. school has really been kicking my ass.  
> anyway, if yall wanna hmu at my writing blog, it is located [here](http://i-hate-words.tumblr.com/). come bother me. i'd love to talk to you guys

Dipper spends most of his morning sharing his new spring of information with Mabel and Grunkle Stan. Stan's face sets into an understandably grim expression as Dipper explains their situation of imminent Armageddon.

"That doesn't explain how Levi, or Leviathan, or whatever his name is could turn a human into a monster," Mabel observes. "We haven't heard of anything like that. Have you, Grunkle Stan?"

Stan scratches at his stubble, “Can’t say I have. All the things my brother and I fought were probably only monsters.”

Bill shrugs from his spot on the kitchen counter, his legs swinging rhythmically. "Leviathan is quite powerful, Shooting Star. He may have many abilities that are not recorded by mortals."

"Does that mean he might be able change other people?" Dipper interjects, "Can he turn anyone or just certain people? Is there even a way to turn them _back_?"

"Hey, don't ask me. Do I look like Leviathan's keeper to you?"

Stan sighs, massaging his forehead. "Kid, if you keep agonizing you'll give yourself an ulcer," he warns, and Dipper closes his mouth in defeat. "Let's keep our guards up and try not to dig our hole deeper," with a last tired sigh, Stan moves into the living room. Dipper faintly hears the sound of clinking bottles.

Dropping the subject is the last thing Dipper wants- they should be plotting strategies to take down the two hellbeasts knocking at their front door, not sitting around and scratching their asses. Dipper has half a mind to continue the discussion anyway, and he's ready to march into the living room, but a subtle shake of Mabel's head stops him.

"Just leave him be, Dippin' Dot. We'll figure it all out."

"I hope you're right," Dipper sighs. Deciding a nice, relaxing morning jog would soothe his stressed mind, he moves over to the front door and slips into a well-worn pair of running shoes. Hopefully some fresh air can make him think better. He certainly has a lot to mull over, now that Bill has decided to be far less stingy with the information he's been handing out.

"C'mon," he beckons for Bill and the demon heaves a big, dramatic sigh before pushing himself off the counter. The distance headaches force Dipper to bring Bill around on any and all excursions, unless the wielder is content with an intense migraine and a deep feeling of unease during the time they're apart. It makes daily tasks unnecessarily complicated.

"Oh, don't go out yet! I wanna try something!" Mabel bounces toward the table and scoops up the red journal that previously belonged to the twins' grandfather. She props open the old book and flips through the pages, finally coming to a stop. "A-ha! Dipper, oh brother of mine, I believe I have a brief solution for your separation anxiety."

Dipper huffs an indignant, "It's not _anxiety_ ," but Mabel pays him no heed, strutting over and giving him a rough shove between the shoulder blades. He stumbles closer to Bill, who looks amused.

"Alright, just put your foreheads together for a second," Mabel directs, and Dipper wonders if the fabric paint fumes have finally gotten to her head.

"You can't be serious-" he bemoans, while Bill gives Mabel a look of surprise.

"That's quite an advanced spell there, Shooting Star," he praises, turning fully towards Dipper and pressing their foreheads together, to his wielder's embarrassment. "Try not to melt his brain!"

That statement has Dipper reeling back, trying not to feel sick at the thought of his brain being turned into butter by an awry spell. He casts an uneasy gaze upon his twin. "Mabel, I don't know about this-"

"Bro, I _got_ this. Just trust me, okay?" she gives him a pleading look and he really can't argue with that face.

"Puppy-dog eyes are cheating," Dipper grumbles, but he turns back towards Bill and presses their foreheads together. The demon's skin feels hot against his, almost feverish. He wonders if unhealthy temperatures are normal for Bill, or if he should be concerned.

"Alrighty boys, just sit tight and let Prime Wizard Mabel work her magic!"

Dipper resists the urge to roll his eyes as Mabel places her hands on the back of his and Bill's necks. Her touch is gentle and pleasantly warm, a contrast to Bill's almost uncomfortable temperature.

Dipper determinedly refuses to meet Bill's eyes, instead focussing on the familiar rosy glow in his peripheral vision. He feels warmth spreading through his veins, then an odd, ticklish pressure at the back of his skull. At first he assumes Mabel is tickling him, but he soon sees his twin step back, her arms cradling the journal.

"Dipper, you gotta make eye contact for this one," she says. Dipper scowls, but listens, meeting Bill's gaze at a far closer distance that he's usually able to tolerate. The demon's eyes glow and crinkle at the corners. Dipper knows if they weren't so close he would be able to see the shit-eating grin on Bill's face.

The tickling sensation persists and steadily spreads through his head, until he has to stop himself from squirming. Bill is way too close, the distance seems far too intimate. He can almost feel the demon's cool breath against his skin, if he focuses on it long enough.

_Nope, not gonna go there._

Dipper winces, knowing his thoughts are too loud, but to his surprise Bill ignores them entirely. The tickling had evolved into a building pressure, particularly strong at the base of his skull. Dipper worries briefly about his brain melting and winces as the pressure increases until his ears ring and his vision blurs.

Then it's gone, leaving Dipper dazed in its wake. "Alright, you two can move now."

Dipper wastes no time in re-establishing his personal boundaries. He rubs the back of his head, wincing. "What did you do, exactly? It hurt like a bitch."

"Ah, just a little Mabel magic," his twin winks. "I know you two hate having to he stuck together at all hours, so I temporarily canceled out the distance thingy. Bill still has to stick around me, but you can go on your jog in peace, Dipper."

Dipper feels like a heavy blanket has been pulled off his head, and he takes a deep breath. He never noticed Bill's constant presence has had that strong of an affect on him. "You're a lifesaver, Mabes. Can you handle him on your own?"

"Pshaw, I've dealt with fuckboys more obnoxious than Bill. I got this," she turns on her heel and fixes Bill with a squint, punctuated by her 'I got my eyes on you' gesture.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm quivering in my boots," Bill snarks in return. "What I'm wondering is why I can't hear any of Pine Tree's thoughts. He has those things on maximum volume almost 24/7."

"I do _not_ ," Dipper scoffs, making sure to internalize the mortification at the possibility that Bill has been subjected to more personal and inappropriate thoughts. The very idea makes Dipper wish the floor would swallow him whole, then and there.

"I added my own little special touch! I set the volume of your guys' thought walkie-talkie to low. It only lasts as long as the distance spell, though."

Bill raises his eyebrows and actually looks _impressed_. It's an extraordinary moment. Mabel probably would kill to scrapbook it. "You modified a pre-existing spell without my help? You're more talented than I thought, Shooting Star!"

Mabel nods sagely. "I do my best to exceed any and all expectations. By the way, Dipper, you have about thirty minutes now. Better get crackin' on the good old exercise."

Dipper nods furiously, the front door already open. "Thanks Mabel!" he calls, and he closes the door behind him.

* * *

 

The air is crisp and cool, just beginning to fade into the warmth of summer weather. Dipper inhales a lungful of clean nature air- it really is different from Piedmont here- and releases it, regulating his breathing to match his pace. It’s comforting, being able to think without Bill both literally and metaphorically breathing down his neck. He lets his walls down with little regard to his safety and lets his thoughts stream unhindered. Having some precious alone time has done wonders on Dipper’s mood, even after only ten minutes of brisk jogging along the side of the road.

He should thank Mabel, get her something nice. He has a small sum of money saved from his submissions to magazines and Stan’s tight-walleted pay for working at the Mystery Shack. She’d probably appreciate a jumbo pack of glitter-glue or something of the sort.

Dipper’s jog slows to a walk as he enters town, a decent amount of people going about their late-morning business. He spots Lazy Susan outside of the diner across the street and offers a cheerful wave. She chortles and waves back.

“Hello there, honey!” she calls. “We just opened up! Wanna come in for some hotcakes?”

“Maybe later, ma’am,” he replies, beginning to jog backwards so he can continue speaking to her unhindered. “If I can convince Grunkle Stan to get off the couch for once!”

“Oh, you little rascal! Tell ‘im I got a hot cherry pie with his name on it. That’ll get the old boy movin’ faster than a rabbit!”

Dipper laughs, “I’ll let him know! See you around, Miss- _oof!_ ”

His back collides roughly with another person, serves him right for jogging backwards. Strong hands on his biceps stop Dipper from flinging both himself and the unfortunate bystander to the ground. Lazy Susan simpers good-naturedly from across the street.

“Careful, honey!” she says as Dipper finds his balance and straightens out. When the danger of falling passes, the hands slide away. Dipper turns, mouth half-open and an apology on his lips. He pauses as he catches a glimpse of the guy he bumped into.

_Guy_ in this case meaning _apocalyptic sea monster disguised as a human being._ Dipper’s stomach drops as Levi- _Leviathan_ \- quirks an eyebrow, perplexed by the wielder’s gawking. Dipper hurriedly shuts his mouth and clears his throat.

“...You work at the Shack, right?” Levi asks, his voice low and warbled as ever. Before, Dipper couldn’t tell, but at this distance he can see that the sea monster’s eyes are a deep orange.

A heavy silence settles over them and Dipper realizes he’d been staring openly while Levi waited patiently for an answer. “Er- yeah,” his voice shakes and he inwardly curses himself. “My name’s Dipper. You’re Levi, right?”

Levi tips his head slightly to the side, staring at Dipper, who feels incredibly self-conscious under the monster’s scrutiny. He doesn’t recall Levi ever blinking during their entire conversation. The thought forces him to avert his eyes and take a step back. A cold sweat breaks along his neck and shoulders and he fights back the sudden, yet powerful, urge _to get away._

This guy sure is intimidating, and definitely a sea monster. Levi nods slowly in response. “Yes, I am… Levi…” He seems unsure of his own words, speaking slowly as if he just learned how to speak English, though Dipper couldn’t detect a hint of an accent. Levi continues staring at him- he definitely has not blinked at all- then his eyes flicker to Dipper’s sides. He furrows his brow, which is the most emotive Dipper has seen from the serpent. “Where’s the demon?”

The question catches Dipper off-guard, until the wielder finally finds himself and his common sense. He takes another step back, in no mood to be anywhere near the monster across from him, who sports a bored expression. “D-demon?” Damn his voice, betraying him yet again. “What demon?”

“The yellow one.”

“B-Bill?” Dipper laughs nervously, rubbing at his upper arm, where Levi had steadied him before. “I mean, he can be an asshole, but I wouldn’t say _demon_ -”

“I’m not stupid, wielder,” Levi interrupts, his tone monotonic. “I know what your purpose is here. It is unwise for you to be out without your demon.”

Dipper stiffens at that, his jaw clenched. People need to stop insinuating that he is weak without Bill. He’s not some god damn _child_. He feels heat stirring just under his skin and he recognizes the sensation. He takes deep, controlled breaths, shoving his anger away. Just as Bill warned him. He needs control. “I can do just fine without Bill, thank you very much. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He makes to shove past Levi, but a slender arm snaps out faster than his mind can process and halts him in his tracks.

“It would do you well to listen,” Levi mutters, his voice far too close to Dipper to be anywhere marginally comfortable. The wielder’s good mood has been completely ruined by this point and he squirms to retreat from the sea monster as quickly as possible, but Levi’s grip is impossibly strong and almost bruising. Dipper grits his teeth against the pain. “You can try all you want, wielder, but you cannot stop me, nor can you stop Behemoth. It is best to just accept it now and spare yourself-”

“You turned an innocent woman into a monster!” Dipper snaps, satisfied by the brief flicker of annoyance that breaks Levi’s apathetic expression. “I can’t just sit by and let you hurt other people!”

“...That is very brave of you, but foolish. There is nothing you can do to stop people from… turning around me. My magical influence is far more powerful than yours.”

“Then there’s no way to turn them back?” Dipper asks. Levi shakes his head no and finally releases the wielder, who promptly takes three steps back. The monster makes no move to chase after him, only watches him impassively. Dipper expected Levi to be far more, well, monstrous, but instead he gives Dipper a look of pity.

“It’s the fate of the world, to end like this.” He’s sick of hearing entitled talk of _fate_ from the immortal beings in his life. Dipper resolves himself to stop Leviathan in any way he damn well can, just out of _spite_. “You mortals can struggle, but it will not matter,” he sighs, shoving his hand in the pockets of his black pants as he walks forward. Dipper fights back an involuntary shudder as the serpent brushes past him. “Oh,” Levi says, stopping mid-stride. He glances at Dipper over his shoulder, his face clear of emotion, as always. “If you see ‘Moth, tell her same time, same place. The beginning of the end. She’ll know what it means.”

He turns forward and keeps walking as if nothing transpired between them, as if he was just a normal man out for a morning stroll and hadn’t just whispered promises of Apocalypse to the world’s only hope of stopping him. The thought makes Dipper’s stomach sink abruptly to his toes. He has to _save the world_. The weight he thought he lost when Mabel allowed him solitude returns, like a boulder set against his chest and driving away every breath. He can tell he’s on the verge of a panic attack. Levi turns a corner and disappears from sight.

Dipper immediately breaks into a sprint and races back to the Shack, his heart pounding in his ears.

* * *

 

“What on earth is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Dipper shrugs, ignoring Mabel’s strange exclamation for the time being. His breaths have slowed after his sprint home and he nurses a cup of ice water. The whole run home Dipper had been chewing over what Leviathan could have meant in his vague statement; what he was playing at by giving an enemy a hint. The absurdity of it all makes his head throb.

Speaking of headaches, Bill is nowhere in sight. Dipper isn’t suffering too horribly, so the spell Mabel used has yet to wear off.

“More importantly, Behemoth is a _girl?_ That’s awesome! Girl power!”

“Mabel, we don’t even know what Behemoth is like. She might be able to crush our heads with her biceps.”

“That would be badass and you know it.”

Dipper shrugs, finding no argument there. “We’ll need to research those two further. Now that we have a vague idea of when they might be having their legendary battle, or whatever, we can’t let this lead drop.”

“Holy honey mustard, _please_ don’t deprive yourself of too much sleep.”

“No promises. Speaking of honey mustard, where is the yellow asshole?” Dipper asks, taking a tiny sip of his water. If anyone has any idea of what _the beginning of the end_ could possibly be referring to, it’s Bill.

As if the mention of his existence summoned him, Bill appears in the doorway of the kitchen. Dipper scowls at him, then does a double take and nearly chokes on his water when he gets a good look at Bill’s face. Then he looks at Mabel, who smiles sheepishly. "You _didn't._ " 

“He was curious and he asked really nicely if I could…”

She trails off as Dipper turns away from her and focuses his exasperated stare on Bill, whose face is decked out with make-up. His blue eye glints mischievously, intensified by winged eyeliner and dusty golden shadow. Dipper’s eyes dart down of their own accord and, _oh god_ , Mabel even lined and glossed his lips with a soft peach color, which makes the demon’s mouth appear very-

Stopping that thought there. He swallows and averts his eyes, pretending like Bill didn’t grin at him knowingly.

“You like makeup, huh? That’s… surprising.”

“Kid, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you really stop giving a shit.”

Dipper clears his throat and stares determinedly into his cup, swirling the ice around to distract him from further thoughts about how good Bill looks in makeup. Thoughts about the demon’s lips are more strictly prosecuted, shoved into the back of his mind, and locked away. Forever.

A shrill _beep_ interrupts Dipper’s internal agony. Mabel stands and presses a button on the oven, which apparently had a timer going. “And spell’s gone! Walkie-talkie is back online.”

_Oh, no._

**Oh, yes! How do I look, Pine Tree? Am I _captivating?_**

Dipper groans as the demon cackles behind him. “Mabel! I want a magical lobotomy! Rid me of this horrid Bill-shaped tumor!”

“Sorry, Dipdop, you’re on your own!”

Dipper opens his mouth to plead for mercy from his sister when the disgruntled visage of his Grunkle appears in the doorway. “Don’t get yourself all worked-up over the sea snake, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“For what?” Mabel asks as Dipper fights off a growing sense of unease.

“The Fourth of July party! They set up a whole faire down by the lake, with stupid games and everything. Do you know how much people will pay for a sparkler on the fourth of July? The answer is a lot, kid. A lot.”

A party? The mere suggestion makes Dipper want to crawl into his room and stay there forever. If there is one thing he absolutely loathes more than anything, it’s parties and various other get-togethers. He never does well in large crowds.

Mabel, however, bounces on her heels beside him, already squealing about what she might wear and if anyone she knows will be there. “Anyway,” Grunkle Stan continues, after giving a make-up clad Bill a discontented stare. “We’ll be setting up a dunk tank, so prepare to be busy. Money doesn’t make itself, y’know!”

With that, he disappears back into the living room and the sound of some Victorian soap opera projects from inside. Dipper casts a cautious glance Bill’s way, and is unsurprised by the chaos-hungry look on the demon’s face.

“I can tell it’s going to be a real _blast_.”

Dipper can only pray that isn’t a pun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and lyrics are from I Will Not Bow by Breaking Benjamin


End file.
